Alpha Target
by Famirad
Summary: Following the sudden death of his closest friend, Trowa Barton sets out after the unknown killer to have his revenge. His travels are alone, he nameless, searching for his identity and purpose in a world where war threatens once again. (43)
1. Indigo Falcon

**Alpha Target**   
By Famira Damaris 

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, much less any rights to any anime series including Mobile Suit: Gundam Wing. Sure wish I did though.   
**Author's Note**: As this is the first chapter of my first fanfiction, I'll be deciding if I should put the rest of the story up based on reactions to this first chapter. Brackets stand for thoughts, \s stand for remembering feelings or bits of conversations. I've also reformated the story so it is easier to read. Thanks for reading! ^_^ 

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**Alpha Target**   
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It was born to me of things   
that are not of this land,   
of kingdoms and kingdoms lost   
that I had and I lost,   
of all things living   
that I have seen die   
of all that was mine   
and went from me.   
- Gabriela Mistral "Land of Absence" 

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Chapter 1 - Indigo Falcon 

AC 199, January 2   
L4 Colony, Indigo Falcon 

The speech was against biological warfare. Recently, there had been rumors circulating over certain suspect countries of the World Nation, rumors that labs within their boundaries were creating biological weapons to ignite another war. There wasn't any way we could prove that the suspect countries were guilty of this type of genetic manipulation, this unspoken taboo, and so the rumors had flown for the past year and a half. The accusations had risen in emotion and tempo, and even Foreign Vice Minister Darlian was unable to do much to pacify both sides. It was decided that the most prominent figures for each country (or area, as some people have started insisting them to be called) would do what they could to calm their people, through speeches or televised announcements, or any other means. This speech today would hopefully quell the anger that was dividing the Colonies on the matter, for the Colonies, though not directly involved with the rumors of biological weapons being developed, chose sides, and this strife was threatening to result to blows, if given enough time. Quatre, as the new head of the very respected Winner family business, was voted to deliver the speech. I remember that day, for I had been present at the meeting that very hour; Quatre had stammered, caught off guard, and had asked whom the other choices for the representative of all the Colonies were. There had been none suitable choices, and so Quatre had taken the responsibility. I wasn't sure if I was personally glad he had taken yet another burden on his shoulders, but I kept my opinions to myself, as I usually did. 

After all, wasn't the fate of the whole more important than the individual's own misgivings? Who was I to object, what with the two year anniversary of the end of the endless waltz that was finally broken? So I kept silent and approving. 

Today was the second of January, a cloudless, sunny day just after the New Year. Today was a good choice for any pacifists to choose to speak, as it was not only after the New Years, it was also not far from the day the countries as one finally discarded their Mobile Suits and weapons, advisors insisted. The year was AC (After Colony) 199, a full two years after the "Mariemaia incident", as Duo would most likely say. Sometimes, whenever I think of the other pilots, I have to wonder what they have been doing for the past two years. Yet...whenever I glance over at Quatre, I know I'm not sorry that I didn't go off on my own like the others most likely have done. For once in my life, I'm not alone - my sister Catherine and Quatre are the anchors in my life that have kept me from getting swept away into the maelstrom. I've always been comforted by the fact that they will be with me as long as I live, a loving relative and a very close...friend. No one should be alone, I've started to realize, for alone a person can't pursue growth, of soul and mind. 

The speech was to take place in an L4 Colony, which coincidentally happened to be the very Colony that Quatre had represented when he had been in possession of his Gundam. The famous (or infamous, depending on your view) Magnanac were not present in the auditorium...at least not in any seats that I could see them. From what little I knew about them, I supposed they might be scattered around the building, keeping a close eye on their "Master Quatre". Still, I think I could understand why they didn't just stand up at the stage with him - not only would that be an unnecessary display of strength, it would also give the appearance that Quatre was worried and raise alarm throughout the colonists. 

Which would not help the already tenacious situation. 

The auditorium was filled to nearly maximum capacity; the second level was closed off. Close to the commercial and residential areas of the L4 Colony, the Indigo Falcon was an immense building. Much like its namesake, the auditorium was predictably a purple-blue in interior color (outside was a more uniform steel gray) with sweeping arches and curving supports, much like the supple wings of a bird of prey, I suppose. Most likely the effect the architects had desired, the decorative rafters swept toward the stage and the podium. It was interesting that an auditorium built for the sole purpose of politics actually had more in common with a theater - the style reminded me strongly of one of those opera theaters that I had once went to with Quatre and one of the representatives from another Colony. Much like an opera house, the Indigo Falcon had a level designated primarily for V.I.Ps, a small, dark balcony-alcove - currently that level was empty. Instead of a patriotic feeling, there was one more of gentle awe. Probably one of the reasons the Indigo Falcon was chosen to be the site of the L-4 Colonies-wide speech, out of hundreds of other possible choices. The ground level was a flood of flashing lights from cameras and murmuring voices, filling the air with the chatter of conversation. 

I glanced at my watch. One thirty. Just about time for the speech to begin. Quatre was sitting next to me in one of the trio of folding metal chairs. He was outwardly calm, and I had little doubts he was composing himself to stand up to address the crowd. I had confidence in him, and, as the current official in charge of the city was giving an introductory monologue, I hesitantly gripped his hand in mine and gave a reassuring squeeze. He returned the gesture warmly, somewhat surprised, and slid his arm away reluctantly as the city official finished her part and stepped away, glancing at the Arabian expectantly. I leaned back as Quatre stood up and headed for the podium, the governor sitting in the chair next to the one that Quatre had previously occupied. I felt the corners of my mouth quirk the slightest bit in a smile. Quatre had worked so hard for this moment, and I was positive his efforts would pay off. The chatter of the audience cut off, as the Arabian took the podium. 

"Thank you all for your attendance," Quatre began. He gathered himself, "The stars look rather bright today." There was an appreciative laugh from the crowd at the small joke referring to the number of paparazzi scattered around the auditorium, whom were clicking away frantically with their cameras. Quatre waited for the quiet rumble of chuckles to die down, before continuing on a more serious note, "However, the matter in discussion is unfortunately not humorous, nor is it something to make light of...biological warfare has always been a separate battle tactic than other conventional types, the subtler side. Biological weapons are the third prime cause of the top three viruses plaguing both the Earth and the Colonies today - and these caused by only human *accidents*. The Rembrandt disease is one reminder of what happens when what was thought to be a secure facility was in actuality not, when human life had to pay the ultimate price for a single mistake..." 

I remembered the Rembrandt epidemic, a year ago. From the news-vids and the confidential files that I had access to, allegedly a laboratory, once devoted to developing biological weapons in the form of bacteria, had been working on a cure to a new strain of virus which had the knack for developing primarily in space and taking a week or less to mature before attacking the host. Somehow, during the procedure of the process, the contained samples had gotten out of the lab, and had quite literally massacred one of the L2 Colonies. The Rembrandt virus was quite deadly to those born in space, and there had been a huge population decrease from the mere two weeks that the virus had escaped before the quarantine could be set and the virus contained once more. From what I had last heard of the Rembrandt disease, the laboratory had been closed down, and the surviving citizens of the Colony had been evacuated to another neighboring Colony so the infected one could be sanitized properly. Just mentioning the word "Rembrandt" would instantly grab anyone's attention and give rise to unconscious hisses of fear - if it could happen to one Colony, it could just as easily happen to another. I could see Quatre's ploy was a good one. No one wanted the Rembrandt incident to be repeated. 

"Human life is more precious than the emotions of curiosity or fear. After all, why would anyone tinker with the genetic code if they aren't curious, or develop weapons unless they are afraid? There must be no reason to fear...after all, the war is over, and peace should be our objective goal," Quatre said earnestly, "Fear will only cause more pain and death, because fear is the cause of war. In the past, fear has bred insecurity, envy, and zealous ambition. In turn, weapons were made as a defense against fear..." 

["But though the weapons have been made and put into use, the driving fear has still remained."] I knew Quatre's speech quite well myself, having gone over it with him during the recent months. 

"But though the weapons have been made and put into use, the driving fear has remained," Quatre paused for a slow breath, glancing around Indigo Falcon. He continued, "We must not give a reason to fear...accusations with little substance will not help, instead only instill more fear in the hearts of the fearful. We preach peace, yet we find it so easy to point fingers..." He fell silent, and though I couldn't see his soft aquamarine eyes, I could sense they were clouded with memories. He glanced up, fingers tightening on the edge of the podium, "However, the wars of the past do not teach that caution is uncalled for. The threat of laboratories manufacturing biological weapons cannot simply be ignored. Thousands of more lives could be lost if a biological weapon was set off in a Colony, or targeted at a part of Earth. We must do what we can to prevent another Rembrandt incident from happening, on purpose or mere human error, and retain our new-found peace..." 

Quatre continued on with his carefully prepared speech, and I found myself glancing idly around the auditorium. I made sure not to look directly into the audience - not only was it impossible to make out any faces in the dark mass, the flashing lights of the ever-present cameras would surely blind me. Still, I couldn't help risking a quick glance. Somewhere inside Indigo Falcon, sitting in one of the ground level chairs, I knew Catherine was present. She had leave from the circus, (I had requested mine several months ago in order to assist Quatre), and had promised she would lend silent support. [I know her word is trustworthy. She's probably getting a kick from seeing me sitting like a dead weight on the stage.] I muffled a snort of disdain at my turn of thought, scanning the second tier of Indigo Falcon. [Strange the officials left the balcony curtains drawn. I thought they would have shut them since that level's closed off...] I thought to myself, about to glance away. 

Something glinted off an object. 

Instantly, I refocused on the area. The gleam that I had thought I had seen had originated from the middle balcony, directly across and above the podium that Quatre stood at. During the days that I had still been in possession of Heavyarms, I would have been immediately suspicious, even to the point of going to investigate and making sure to bring as much firepower as I could carry. However, the days of the battle were long over, and my instincts were far from their prime. I didn't get up, for I knew that would look odd if I were to leave suddenly with no explanation. I regarded the balcony in question for a moment longer, wondering if I was becoming prone to imagining things. Nothing appeared to answer my suspicions, and I glanced away. [Probably just light reflecting from the cameras] I told myself. [Start paying attention to Quatre's speech, Trowa, and stop being paranoid.] I gave up on trying to find something to tack a suspicion on after another lingering minute, turning back to the speech. 

"...Peace is our objective, and that is something we must always remember as we strive to achieve our goals. Peaceful means are always the better choice than the path of fear and violence-" Quatre was cut off with no warning. 

I was halfway out of my seat from remembered-instincts, as time seemed to slow down to an agonizing, evitable crawl. 

BANG! 

-sharp flash from the balcony – 

- a small hole tearing through Quatre's black vest, ripping through the white dress-shirt underneath - 

- screaming from the audience - 

- a small gout of red blood spurting out of the sudden wound in Quatre's chest - 

- his blood - 

- out of – 

- body - 

- aquamarine eyes wide with shock - 

- Quatre taking a feeble, surprised step backward, falling, slowly collapsing backward – 

- blood starting to trickle down one side of his mouth - 

- a rising crescendo of screams of the other people, bodies rushing to stand up - 

- a roar in my ears, Quatre sinking limply to the floor – 

- red staining the white – 

- Quatre! - 

"Quatre!" I shouted, and cruel time seemed to resume normal speed. I practically flew to his side, only seeing out of the side of my eye the people from the audience stampeding toward the exits and the people rushing toward the stage. I ignored all others, paid no attention to the chaos erupting around me. My vision, my world, narrowed down to only encompass the stricken Quatre's in my arms, bending down helplessly over the fallen Arabian. 

"Quatre." I cried, "Quatre!" 

I was dimly aware of people crowding around, a familiar voice - Cathy - shouting something among several unfamiliar roars of other voices. I closed my eyes in an effort to drown them out. Quatre was all that mattered. He lay limply on the floor, not responding to my pleading or the dull white noise of voices in the background. A thin streak of blood was slipping down the side of his lips, and I was struck by a strong sense of horror at the unearthly pallor to his skin. He looked cold, so cold, yet I could still feel a warmth from him, that I could sense was already fading away. [Quatre! Quatre, don't leave me!] I cried mentally, and with a sudden feeling of frantic urgency, I fumbled with Quatre's shirt, my vision blurring. I could barely see my hands, rapidly become red with his blood, trying futilely to find a heartbeat, a sign, any sign that *he* was still among the living. 

Somewhere in the corner of my mind, I was desperately reciting prayers I had thought forgotten, appealing to any and all higher powers that *my* Quatre wasn't leaving me alone. Alone, alone again to be dead and cold inside. Arms were pulling at my shoulders, unintelligible words shouted. I resisted. [What are you doing, I have to stay with him! Why aren't the emergency units here?!] I wailed silently at the grabbing hands' sheer stupidity. They continued trying to pull me away, though I was trying to stay as close to Quatre as I could. With a growing sense of immeasurable sorrow, I finally realized what they had already seen, as my search for a heartbeat ended: 

Quatre Raberba Winner was dead. 

It struck me like a solid blow, this realization, and suddenly I was unable to breath. I gasped for air, aware of somewhere in the distance being pried away from the Arabian. I heaved, on my knees besides Quatre's body, for oxygen. My thoughts had dissolved into incoherency, a babbling string of nonsense, fragments that no longer made any sense or were of any importance. All I knew through the confusion was sadness, familiar emptiness, liquid welling at the corners of my eyes. I saw only Quatre in stark detail - my hands - the mask-like faces around me - the floor - all blurs, meaningless blurs. I saw only him, clasping one of his slack lifeless hands in my own, cradling his head in my lap. 

Gone. Forever. 

I had failed to protect him...my Quatre...dead... 

I knew I was mumbling a word over and over to myself - *his* name, perhaps - as for the first time, tears actually *poured* from my eyes. I was falling apart, and I-did-not-care. Quatre-loss... 

"Trowa!" Cathy's arms wrapped around my shoulders, as I rocked back and forth. I lost myself deeper in the mixture of shock and sorrow, only catching little of the orders being shouted around Cathy and me. 

"What's wrong with him?" 

"Shock -" 

"-hospital, over a hundred -" 

"-suspect-" 

I sat, staring dully at the closed eyes. Never again...those beautiful eyes...next to me, Cathy was making a strange movement, shifting aside to let someone else through the crowd. I paid no attention, head bowed. I felt a pang within, remembering how I had never shown Quatre how much he had actually meant to me. An unfamiliar emotion surge through me, a tidal wave of pure rage and sorrow. This was not only my fault... 

Someone had killed Quatre. Someone had taken him from me. I nearly bit my tongue as I felt my teeth grinding against each other. I hardly felt the pinprick in my neck, or noticed I was growing woozy. 

That someone was going to die. 

Over and over. 

For Quatre... 

I had one last glimpse of him before I was swallowed up in a black oblivion and could see no more. 

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I came to in degrees. I had been swimming in a hazy fog, a gently drifting smoke that had swirled my senses in and out of awareness. Muffled voices had tried to break through, but another had resisted, snapping them away. For a moment, I couldn't remember anything, and I stifled panic. [Where...I...Quatre...?] The wafting fog slowly dissipated, and I found myself sitting with my head between my knees, staring at a very unfamiliar plastic chair. 

I remembered at that moment. 

I must have made a noise of anguish, for someone was at my side. I tried to lift my head, but a wave of dizziness assaulted me, my temples pounding. I felt bile rising in my throat, and I was close to becoming violently sick. I gagged, coughing. 

"Ride it out, Trowa. It's just the tranquilizers wearing off." 

I continued gagging for a few long moments, and panted for breath, leaning on my knees with my elbows for support. A gentle, supportive hand placed itself on my back, as I blinked my eyes at the white plastic seat. The hand never left once, waiting patiently until I had caught my breath. 

"Try sitting up. The doctors said you're going to be dizzy, that you might be sick, but it's only temporary." I recognized the voice. Cathy. 

"I-I'm alright," I mumbled. [No, I'm not alright! Quatre's *dead*!] I felt my eyes start to have that strange burning sensation, and my emotions must have been more obvious than I had thought, for with no warning, Cathy hugged me, her strong voice breaking. 

"I'm so sorry, Trowa!" A sorrowful squeeze of surprisingly strong hands around my shoulder, "I'm...so sorry." 

I closed my eyes, tears threatening to overwhelm me again. There was no need to reply with words, and I sat in her arms, silently. Outwardly I was stoic, inwardly a blubbering wreck. My tears for Quatre flowed from inside, a torrent that wouldn't stop. My eyes, though, to a vague horror, were quick to dry, and I found that, though I *wanted* to cry physically, I couldn't. We sat huddled against each other, Cathy lending her support. 

[Quatre...It was my fault...my...fault...I never told you...how I felt...] 

"Is there a Trowa Barton here?" 

I glanced up. A nurse was standing at the door of the room -a crowded lobby, I saw now- and looking about. She was rather young to be working in a hospital, and it was showing, from the harried and drawn expression on her face. The other ten people didn't bother to acknowledge her presence, glancing at watches or muttering quietly amongst themselves. Cathy nodded to the orderly, I fixing dull olive eyes on her. 

"You're Trowa Barton?" she asked. 

"Please...I'd rather you didn't call me that." I said. [The only one who has the right to give me a name was Quatre...and now I have no name again...] Cathy flashed me a worried glance. 

" ...There is someone to see you, sir," the nurse opted to turn away. She gestured with her clipboard for me to follow, disappearing back into the dark hallway. I trailed after her with Cathy, still somewhat light-headed. Cathy was quiet, and the only thing she would say to me was a remark about taking it easy. 

"He's waiting in there," the nurse pointed at an open room, sunlight streaming through the doorway. She turned to Cathy, "Please, wait outside." 

"Alright. Trowa, I'll see you later, okay?" 

She left. The nurse was quick to following, my silence no doubt unnerving her. I took the moment to compose myself, made sure I didn't appear as terrible as I felt, and entered the hospital room. 

The room was impersonal, a small room dominated by a pristine bed and curtains. My attention, however, was drawn to the person sitting in the chair near the window, glancing out with that same sharp focused stare I remembered so vividly from the two years ago when I had last seen him. 

Chang Wufei. 

The Chinese Preventer swiveled in his seat at the sound of my approach. He certainly hadn't changed much over the passage of time - he still wore his hair in an excruciatingly tight ponytail, still had that burning stare that sometimes made one feel like he could see into the depths of your very soul, and still had the straightforward attitude. One thing, however, was slightly different about him. I couldn't quite put a finger on it, but somehow he seemed changed, softer in his demeanor. I didn't say anything, however, keeping my silence. 

"It's been awhile," Wufei said, standing up out of his seat. He stiffly offered the chair to me, which I declined wordlessly. 

"Why are you here?" I asked. I knew even for me I was being rude, but Wufei didn't seem to notice. 

"Doing my job as a Preventer," Wufei paused, and I was startled to see he was actually worried and uncomfortable, "And...I need to talk to you about what happened today." 

"What happened at Indigo Falcon?" I demanded, "Why is Quatre-what happened after..." I choked, unable to finish what I was saying. The Chinese boy - no, closer to a man now - gave me a moment to gather myself. 

Wufei sat in his seat, folding his arms over his chest, businesslike, "Apparently, someone was able to sneak up into the restricted second floor. After the shot was fired off, the person fled, probably through the way he got in the first place, by the roof." 

"How do you know the killer is a 'he'?" 

Wufei bent over, and picked up a neat folder that had been lying on the ground near his feet. He held it out, and I stepped across the room, took it from his hands.   
It was a half-finished report, I could see that as soon as I opened the folder. I scrutinized the written section, but the information was obscure, and didn't reveal anything to me. I forced my raging emotions down, relying once again on that cold pit inside of me that had been a part of me as long as I could remember. Papers, more documents that told nothing, witness reports - it looked like a dead end. 

I was about to close the folder when I caught a glimpse of the shiny edge of a photograph. I pulled it out, setting the folder down next to me as I slumped, rather than sat, on the bed edge. The picture was of the roof top of Indigo Falcon, taken from an aerial view. I stared. 

"That photo was taken by our helicopter," Wufei commented, "The Preventers were assigned to circle around the whole Indigo Falcon block. The man in the picture is probably the assassin. He's directly responsible for the injuries sustained in the stampede of people caused by panic, and not only is the blood of Quatre on his hands, at least fifteen people are dead, and over one hundred wounded, since Indigo Falcon was filled to full capacity." 

It was actually a good photograph, considering the camera was probably moving. The man in the picture was captured racing across the gently curving rooftop, a lean individual with spiky silver hair. That, however, didn't tell much, as I myself knew several people whose hair had whitened prematurely. Still, the picture was good enough that I could distinguish that he was tall and lean, and from the looks of his frozen stride, he was probably from Earth. The people of Earth and of the Colonies had different ways of walking, because of the differences in gravitational orientation. People from Earth generally put more effort into walking then was necessary. Wufei most likely had already figured that out. 

"This is the killer?" I asked flatly, glancing out at the Chinese soldier through the screen of my hair. He nodded. 

"We're pretty sure. We're closing all outgoing traffic from the Colony. He couldn't possibly have left, so we hope to trap the bastard," Wufei sounded confident enough, but I was sure he was hiding any of his true feelings on the matter. 

"You think there are more people involved." It was a statement, not a question. 

Wufei hesitated for the briefest fraction of a second before cautiously nodding, "You're right. This hospital is crowded because we're keeping all the people from Indigo Falcon here under surveillance..." 

I felt the claws of anguish reaching up within, "You think I was involved?" I was torn between being furious and shocked. I waited expectantly for his affirmative, and was surprised when he spoke up. 

"Actually, no. You were standing right in front of everyone. You couldn't have passed any signals even if you *were* involved," Wufei leaned forward, "Besides, I don't believe *you* would have ever had any part in this. Whoever did this coordinated Quatre's assassination with the bombings." 

"What bombings?" 

"Two street car-bombs went off in two separate locations three miles away from Indigo Falcon, five minutes after we took that photograph of the assassin. A residential building and a laboratory - we're investigating them right now to find out what we can, but there isn't much we can do." 

"What are you going to do about this man?" I switched subjects abruptly, keeping my voice carefully controlled and cold. Wufei stared hard at me. I returned it blankly, and for a moment our eyes locked on each other. The Chinese Preventer was the first to look away, his expression giving away that he didn't like what he saw. 

"We'll be conducting a Colony-wide manhunt," Wufei was met with silence and he continued, "This man will not get away with this - justice will be dealt." 

"That won't bring Quatre back, will it?" I snarled bitterly. 

Wufei closed his eyes, suddenly looking exhausted. He continued speaking. 

"No. Nothing will. I'm sorry about Quatre, but you also have to realize that we also have a duty. We no longer can act on a personal basis anymore, Trowa."   
"Don't call me that name anymore! I am nothing, a no-name," I struggled to remove the unfamiliar emotions dwelling within me. I noticed Wufei was giving me a sympathetic, knowing look. Suddenly I wanted to rip that expression off his arrogant face. [How can he pretend he understands? He...he didn't know what it was like between Quatre and I! He would only have said our natures were "perverted", with his damn traditions!] 

"I do understand, Nanashi." 

I looked up at those words, taken by surprise. The Preventer had his slanted obsidian eyes fixed on me. It was almost as if he had guessed what I was thinking. I stared dumbly. 

"I've known all along. Nanashi, you're not the only one who's changed since the war," Wufei gave a sad smile, "I used to be blinded by old tradition, unable to see what was in front of me, or refusing to believe in anything unless it was perfectly black and white. I was aware of how close you two were, but I always looked the other way before the Eve Wars." 

"You..." 

"Knew along. I'm not the same man I was during the war, Nanashi. I've long overcome any prejudices I've nurtured in the past." 

I refused to meet his eyes, glancing away. Here Wufei was, far more honest of his faults then I could ever be. I was never worthy of Quatre in the first place, corrupted with my own selfish feelings as I was. Suddenly the words were tumbling out of my mouth, as if I had lost control. 

"I never told him how I felt. He'd tell me he liked me, and I-I never said anything in return. I never admitted that I felt the same way - I should have said something, anything. But-but I didn't. I took him for granted - and I failed to protect him! How do you expect me to react to this?!" I almost exploded, "It's my *fault* he's *dead*, Wufei! Why did it have to be *him*? He was giving a *peace* speech! I should have taken that bullet for him; I was also his bodyguard, dammit!" I felt a shudder wrack my shoulders, and I stared down at my hands, all the strange emotions draining out of me once again. My voice dropped to a whisper, and I felt like I had been shaken like a rag doll by a dog, " I...never said a comforting word in return to him, not one and...and I-I never had a chance to say good-bye..." 

Wufei was silent. He sat very still, like a statue, as I sought to gather myself once again. Rather than try to retreat from his silence, like I wanted very much to, I bowed my head. It was then that Wufei spoke up, his words carefully slow and clipped, stiffly, and it seemed as if he was repeating a past lesson. 

"Mourning honors the dead. I was taught that when I was young, that the dead command a certain amount of respect, no matter one's rank or cause of death. However, I was taught, mourning also brings corruption of the mind," a long pause, then he continued, as if he didn't like what he was saying, but knew it was the right thing to do, "The longer one mourns, the more perfect and flawless the dead become. Anger grows and turns the mind toward obsession, and with this turning, one will only see what he wants to see, not reality as it is. It's good that you mourn for Quatre, but...one day you'll have to continue your life where you left it, and let your guilt over something you had no control over go. You can't keep haunting yourself with ghosts of memories and building Quatre into the perfect human." 

I stood up silently. [He doesn't know me. Quatre...never had a dark side to himself.] I avoided Wufei's black eyes, turning away. My thoughts, burning with fury and anger, sudden turned over a new, insane idea. I latched onto it with desperation, purpose suddenly dispersing my depression. [Yes-s-s...that's what I'll do. For Quatre. For my poor, cold, dead Quatre. He would do the same for me] Another crazy thought [Afterward...I should join him...] But this, I knew, despite how much I wanted to believe I would join him, was something I wouldn't be so quick to act upon the urge. But it was the least I could do to repay the pain I was feeling to this man, this man who had taken Quatre away from me. A thousand times over - make him feel what I felt multiplied, before he died at my hands. I felt my eyebrows furrow, as I realized what I would do with stark clarity. I faced toward the door to go. 

"Nanashi." 

I half-turned, glancing at the Chinese Preventer through my bangs. He had stood up, but had made no motion to step forward. 

"What?" 

"Don't become another Chang Wufei, bent only on revenge and blind to all else. It's an empty existence that took me sixteen years to realize. Don't make the same mistake." 

If he expected an answer, he wasn't getting one. I exited the small room - I had to prepare for more important matters now. No matter where Quatre's killer hid, or how fast he ran, there would be no escape. I didn't have time for meaningless warnings. 

[This will be for you, Quatre] 

To be continued...   
>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
Well, that's it so far. I haven't gotten any reviews yet. e_e Alpha Target's basically the name of the first part (with a bunch of long-winded chapters) in a series of fanfictions that describe the threat of the Rembrandt disease (always a reason why I'd make up such a thing). The orders are Alpha-Trowa, Beta-Wufei, Gamma-Heero, and Omega-Duo. Alpha Target's the only one with a first person POV, but I haven't even gotten half-way through it yet. -_-; Oh well. There's so many good writers here, makes me feel all small and insignificant. O_o Alpha Target doesn't really have much to do with the other Targets, except explain why Quatre is gone and why Trowa seems to vanish. But I probably won't get the other Targets done. *sighs* Oh well. I seem to say that a lot. 

[10/29/01] Well, I didn't change anything except make the format easier on the eyes. 

- Famira Damaris 


	2. Down Memory Lane

**Alpha Target**   
By Famira Damaris 

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, much less any rights to any anime series including Mobile Suit: Gundam Wing. Sure wish I did though. Man, I could actually buy stuff....wow. Not those weakling **things** anymore, actual **stuff**! Can you imagine that? But I do own the rights to this plot, that's the least I can say.   
**Author's Note**: This is the second chapter (I'm the only one that couldn't figure that one out e_e). Brackets stand for thoughts, \'s stand for remembering feelings or bits of conversations, {'s stand for electronic stuff like P.A systems. Also, this fiction attempts to show how no one is perfect, and show that the relationship between Quatre and Trowa isn't spontaneous, that Trowa/Nanishi might have some dark thoughts regarding it. This isn't really an action story, so I have a hard time doing the action parts when I think I'm better at the little mind things than this. ~_~; Quatre acts sort of weird here (yes, I KNOW he's supposed to be kicking the bucket, but this is a flashback [and there's gonna be a lot of them, so nyah! :P]), but Trowa acts far stranger in the third chapter. Thanks for reading! ^_^ (*muttering* I can't believe people actually said positive things about something I wrote.*huddling in the corner*) 

--------------------------------------------   
**Alpha Target**   
-------------------------------------------- 

It was born to me of things   
that are not of this land,   
of kingdoms and kingdoms lost   
that I had and I lost,   
of all things living   
that I have seen die   
of all that was mine   
and went from me.   
- Gabriela Mistral "Land of Absence" 

-------------------------------- 

Chapter 2 – Down Memory Lane 

AC 198, November 12   
L4 Colony, Winner Residential Estate 

"Trowa? Trowa, where're you?" 

I turned the page of the thick paperback book I had been reading idly. I was sitting in a well-lit study on the first floor of the Winner estate in the Colony, curled up comfortably against the sill of the window. There were two Winner estates in existence that I could recall, one on Earth and here up in the L4 Colony, but on Earth, it was warmer; the weather wasn't artificial, created by the weather generators that were installed in every Colony. Even though I myself was Colony-born, I generally liked any thing the Earth atmosphere threw at me in terms of weather. At least it was all real, not recycled and decided on a weather controller's whim. Sunlight from the giant panes circling the Colony was spilling across the pages, as I continued reading. 

"Trowa?" 

Finally, I looked up. Quatre's voice was closer, and I turned toward the open door of the study, stretching out lanky legs that were tingling with the beginning of cramps. Whenever Quatre went looking for me, he usually didn't expect me to shout my location, and so I didn't – he would usually just wander about the quaint mansion until he found me. Quatre's steps drew close, and the floor of the hallway just outside of the study creaked. A blond hair poked in, peeking around the doorframe. Aquamarine fixed with my olive ones, the Arabian giving a small grin. 

"So there you are. I was looking all over for you," Quatre entered the room, glancing about. The study was shaped like a rectangle, dominated mostly by the wide windows. I studied him as he had regarded the room. He had discarded his usual outfit, replacing it with a simple scarlet sweater over casual black slacks – which, I had to note to my mental self, looked very nice on him. His bright eyes returned to me, with that expression that he blessed only me with. I felt a shiver of warmth race up my spine, suppressed it as best I could before Quatre would notice anything abnormal in my behavior. 

"Were you?" I asked, lowering the half-shut book in my hands, giving Quatre my full attention. 

"Yeah." Quatre crossed the room, over the soft Persian rug, and sat down on the windowsill's seat next to me. His very movements were graceful, his unconscious gestures beautiful. I felt my heart thudding, racing in my chest. This felt…right. So right. Quatre continued, "All over. I'd thought you'd left or something." He snuggled up against me, leaning on my shoulder. I froze with indecision. How should I respond? Return the affection? I struggled with my choices, and I ended up only relaxing my muscles at his contact. My heart was threatening to pound itself out of my ribcage. 

"I didn't," I said. 

"I know. You said yourself you wouldn't leave me without telling me," Quatre closed his eyes. He looked so at peace, his fine golden hair tickling my cheek. I started to raise my hand to stroke his hair, hesitated, and then helplessly dropped it. Quatre, unaware of the pause, opened his eyes, glancing up at me. 

"I have to apologize, Trowa. I've had almost no free time, what with the speech preparations and the Colony projects," Quatre murmured lazily, the sunlight making his movements slow and sleepy, "I'm not sure accepting this responsibility was the best idea." 

"What do you mean?" 

Quatre blushed, "It's just that…I'd…never mind, it's not important." 

"What were you going to say, Quatre?" I pressed gently. 

"I'd like to get to…know you better," Quatre replied slowly–why do you look so guilty?– and he didn't quite meet my gaze, "I…feel that it's good to be true to one's feelings." 

I made no answer, and it was obvious that Quatre hadn't been expecting one. He turned his head, pressing his face into my shoulder. His words were muffled, but still coherent. Dust motes drifted silently along the shafts of light streaming in through the windowpanes, dancing in and out of the shadows. We sat together in comfortable silence for several long minutes, before Quatre spoke up again. 

"I have to catch the next flight to Earth," he said. I felt a chill brush across the back of my neck as I looked down at him. He had his eyes closed again, relaxed, and had that quiet expression that reminded me of one dead. The thought of Quatre gone jolted me with a sharp, surprisingly painful pang, and the urge to crush him to my chest was strong. 

But I made no such gesture. 

"Where are you going?" I asked. 

"Los Angeles, in the United States," he replied. He was so warm. Not cold. Not like the dead. Not at all like the dead. 

"In California, right?" 

"Yeah – you've certainly reviewed your geography," humor colored his voice, as he went on, holding up a finger, "The United States is the only country with states in the World Nation today. Each state could be an individual country in its own right – there's been at least one war over this, I think." 

"The Civil War, wasn't it? I always thought there was strength in numbers – one would think that the states would rather be as one instead of a mass of countries." I remarked, knowing I was sidetracking the conversation. [I'd rather talk about this than Quatre leaving again] 

Quatre shifted, and I silently supported him with my shoulder, "I agree. If all goes well, we won't have to worry about power struggles popping up again. I'll be leaving once the Earth completes its rotation and the Colony is in line with North America. Less distance to cover and less jet lag for me." 

The corners of my mouth quirked up in a small grin. Quatre with jet lag wasn't the most pleasant person to be with, though I did find it amusing - Quatre would eat whatever was in front of him, and start snoring quietly in a meeting over the state of the World Nation, walk into doors, or just say the strangest things spontaneously. During these times when the poor Arabian's biological clock was suffering, I did what I could to limit the "damages". Stop him from eating a napkin on accident, give him a soft jab in side with my elbow to wake him up in the meetings, try to not get run over by him sleepwalking when I was heading toward the bathroom at night – this I did with no complaint, though he certainly did complain when he was awake about his jet lag. He would soon readjust and be back to his normal self in a few days. Still, I was concerned for him. I had a right to be, didn't I? I definitely believed I was his friend; at least I regarded myself as so. [But you could be much more, if you could decide for once what to do. Why do you always have to be so indecisive when it comes to matters of the heart, Trowa?] Quatre at least seemed not to be worried, and he harbored no confusion, "Isn't Los Angeles on the dangerous side?" 

"A little." Quatre answered softly. 

I blurted out the words before thinking of what I was saying: 

"I probably should come." 

"I'll be safe as long as you're with me," I could feel his mouth lift upward in that beautiful mournful smile through the navy blue material of my turtleneck, "It would be great if you could stay with me forever." 

I was startled, but I didn't pull away, or lean into him, instead saying quietly, "I'll be there, Quatre." 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

AC 199, January 12   
L4 Colony, Pavilion Sector 

"{-this is the Pavilion Sector gravity-train through the Erich and Haie districts. Repeat, through Erich and Haie. All passengers bound for Erich and Haie are to board the gravity-train *now*. Have your ticket card out and ready}" The intercom of the platform shut off with a click, the operator apparently not wanting to bother with false pleasantries. For a confused, wrenching moment, I thought Quatre was still sitting next to me – I could almost feel his warm body next to mine. But no – I had only been daydreaming of that seemingly far away memory. I blinked, and stood up as the sleek, bullet-like train creaked to a slow stop in front of the station. [I must have zoned out again. I can't keep doing this – if I'm going to track down this man, I have to focus on business] I forced my emotions into coldness, lest I start sobbing like a little child. The transition from mourning to complete level headedness was quick, and I was partially relieved at this. I needed to be focused on this, I reminded myself again. 

I headed toward the gravity-train, – I didn't have much baggage with me, only a slim duffle bag over my shoulder that contained only a copy of the files from Wufei, and the barest necessities. I expected to be in and out of the district in a matter of days – where I was going, one didn't want to spend more time there then was needed. 

The Colony was in the first throes of chaos. Quatre had apparently been the closest thing to the leader of this particular cluster, and had been a major influence in raising the general productivity of the people, aiding in the economy. He had virtually no enemies in the political realm, and had done his best to make his fellow citizens in positive spirits. So of course the population of the Colony were going to be *very* angry. 

It had only been about a week and a half since Quatre had died. Because of the rising problems on their hands, the Preventers had his body cryogenetically frozen, until they found his assassin. With Quatre gone, the people of the Colony had erupted into daily riots and mass acts of vandalism, nearly everyone shouting for blood against "them", the faceless enemy that had killed a well-liked and respectable leader. The Preventers were barely able to keep the chaos to a minimum, and I took this opportunity to slip away and look for Quatre's assassin myself. 

I wanted to be the first to get my hands on the bastard. 

I had come up only with dead ends the first week, but yesterday had been different. I had gotten a better description from a metro-track driver, whom I had found out had driven a man of the same appearance from the Erich district (far from the "core" of the Colony) to a stop close to Indigo Falcon. Most of the Colonies in the various clusters were built the same – a ring, with the "core" tube running through the middle. Each was divided into Sectors, much like a pie, each Sector dividing into city-like districts. The inner parts of the Sectors, near the core, were generally for the middle to upper class. Two gravity-train tracks connected the inner rim with the outer rim, the network running first through all the outer rim districts and ending at the core. Chances were, the man would return to the Erich district, as it was a place not many would think to look, not even the Preventers – the Erich area was the very slums of this Colony, a threshold for brothels, bordellos, prostitutes, and drug dealing. Hardly the place one would think anyone in his right mind would hide out in. 

I tore my attention to the present, chiding myself silently for losing focus on little details. The man standing next to the gravity-train's entrance scrutinized my ticket, but I knew he would find nothing wrong with it. It was perfectly legal, yet the man suspiciously demanded to see my ID. It was perfectly understandable, so I let this pass without any word. 

"Trowa Barton, eh?" He handed the card back to me; obviously disappointed that everything was in order. I nodded emptily. 

I'd be throwing the useless thing away anyway – I knew of no Trowa Barton, only of Nanashi. No name, no past, therefore nothing to hold me back, I reasoned, as I took my seat in the nearly empty transport. [Nothing to hold me back. Nothing at all] 

I pulled out the copied file I had borrowed from Wufei. Took out the picture and stared at it coldly. With what the metro-track driver had told me, this man had to be at least in his forties – his hair *was* prematurely silver, almost white. His most noticeable features, I was told, were startling ice blue eyes and his height (he was taller than I was by a long shot). Other than that, he would have been completely forgettable, the type that could be easily lost in any crowd. In the Preventer photo, he was still frozen fleeing his crime, Quatre's blood now on his hands. I felt the beginnings of a red haze of rage start to descend, and dismissed the emotion with relative ease before it could grow any further. I was sinking back once more into old habits from years back in my past. 

I glanced out the window of the gravity-train, hissing almost silently along the magnetized rails. Smoke was rising up in the distance – probably another riot breaking out in the inner rim Magnolia Sector – and getting swept away by the Colony's ventilation filters. [Most likely another library going up in flames] I observed with detachment. [Or stealing only half of a pair of sneakers. Idiots. They use Quatre's death as an excuse for anything] This time, only a glimmer of bitterness easily squashed into the cold void. 

So far, every "peaceful gathering" of citizens had broken into these riots. There was even a term to describe this, "hagi-xa", wasn't it? Named so to mean chaos hidden in the ordered structures of letters, hagi-xa is supposedly the act of gathering a group of people in one area declaring peaceful protest, though the original is to riot. [Pure nonsense. There is nothing accomplished using that method] Still, if I was not mistaken, a hagi-xa was to take place close to the Erich district. I would have no trouble blending in as another protestor. The Preventers, allowing little to no communication between districts, had closed almost all of the Sectors of the Colony off. The Pavilion Sector was open for the time being, though I suspected it wouldn't be long before it, too, would be closed off during the manhunt. 

If Quatre's killer had fled to Erich, he would be trapped, though there were plenty of places to hide. Searches were sweeping the whole Colony, but a Colony was generally very large – large enough to be a country, if it had been on Earth and not in space. A manhunt would most likely take half a year, considering the ground covered. 

And I simply would not wait that long for *him* to be brought to justice. I'd deal with him myself, for my own reasons and not the good of the Colony. I was getting sick of constantly doing things for the good of the people and never anything for myself. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Pavilion District, Erich 

Erich could be hardly described as sprawling. Grimy, dark, dilapidated, noisy, and smelly, yes, but hardly sprawling. From a guess, Erich had a population over one million: the average for a district was at least triple that. From its "used" state, I supposed Erich was the center for all sorts of traffic, most likely of the kind that people did their best to ignore. The filters, of course, cleaned the air above the district daily, but even this did little to lift the gloomy atmosphere and the stench. Erich smelled like something long dead had been rotting away, mixed in with some other awful sweet-sour smell that told of human sweat and garbage. I leaned against a greasy lamppost, and purposely inhaled the noxious air. [Might as well force myself to get used to this right now] 

I was lucky that I had talked to the metro-track driver. If not for him, I wouldn't have known where to start my search, even if I had stumbled by chance into Erich. Go talk to the old woman, the driver had said, living in the shack next to the gravity-train platform. According to him, this woman did nothing but watch people enter and exit Erich, observing like some sort of voyeur. She was pretty much a spy for hire. She'd surely know if "the man" had entered the city, and most likely know where there was anyone else who had more knowledge regarding him. She would "remember" only for a fee, naturally. So I knew where I would begin. 

The cracking pavement streets were full. Of the homeless, pleading to deaf ears for shelter, of the beggars, stretching out pale splotched skeleton-like hands for handouts. A man rushed past, dragging a weeping young girl with him by her bound wrists. Two women went in the opposite direction, sucking noisily from elongated pipes, puffing curling little clouds from unnaturally red cheeks, blinking owlishly from yellowed eyes. A scrawny boy and his mother were eying those passing by greedily, their gnarled claws of hands clenching open and closes in frustration and pent-up anger at those better off than they. I blocked all this out, staring at the houses lining the other side of the street 

. There it was. Quite literally a shack, but in much better shape when compared to some of the housing nearby. 

I crossed the street, and pushed upon the door. It screeched, teetering on rusting hinges, and looked like it was about to fall off. The lighting inside was poor, but I could make out the shadow of a figure in the back, reclining on a broken mattress covered with tattered towels. 

"What brings you here, young man?" Gravelly, like her vocal cords were rubbing with sand paper. 

I returned her measuring gaze with an expressionless face, wasting no time on getting to the point, "I'm looking for someone. A man, in his forties with silver hair. Cut short, blue eyes, taller than I am. He returned here a week ago." 

The old woman leaned forward, drawing her towels around her, "I…*might* have seen someone of this description," she said, and leaned toward her right, shuffling about in the darkness, "Of course, my memory is faulty in my old age. I don't know if this senile elderly woman can remember someone when she sees so many, many people pass by her shack every day." An expectant pause. 

"What's your price?" 

"Two hundred credits beforehand," she was suddenly businesslike, dropping her helpless old woman act as if it had never existed. "That now, or act as errand boy for an hour." 

I refused to be goaded, "I have the money now. What do you know of him?" 

"The money first, mercenary, information second. That's how this world works," she reached greedily out with a wrinkled brown hand. I handed her the credits, not caring about the price. Money held little importance to me, as I had more pressing affairs on my mind, "My thanks." 

I didn't bother to reply, merely waiting. She lay back down on the broken mattress. 

"Yes, I did see such a man of your description. He was carrying a black case, the type you could conceal a weapon in. Tall, blue eyes, silver hair, as you described. He also had a day's amount of beard stubble on his chin, and looked like he hasn't eaten well for several days. That describes just about everyone in Erich, though," a low chuckle at her cleverness, "He left the day just before the New Years, and came back the fourth of January. I haven't seen him leave through the gravity-train platform, and of course all the space docks are closed down. I'm assuming he's still in Erich." 

[Then the bastard can only hide so long…] But I still needed more information. 

"Is there anyone else seen in his company or knows more of him?" I asked, dropping another fifty-unit credit on the ground, just out of her reach. 

"I've only caught glimpses of this man, but I've seen him several times. I do know for certain that he's been in Yuki-Wong a couple of times, and probably not for the booze there. I've heard that he usually asked for the silkie Mayumi. How Mayumi became a silkie for that place is beyond me – but I've seen him climbing the stairs of Yuki-Wong for Mayumi." The old woman gave a disgusted snort, pulling the credit off of the floor and examining it for any blemishes, "Yuki-Wong's on Denver Street, with the other Wongs. It's next to the Sendero-Wong, so you can't miss the place." 

Almost enough to satisfy me, but I still had one more question. 

"Do you know his name?" Another thrown credit. 

She beamed, a nasty expression not helped by the fact that the meager light was catching on a giant mole just under her mouth, "I've only heard his last name," picked up the credit, "It's Duval. I'm guessing he's an Earth-bred German or something from the sound of it." 

[Duval, is it? I guess I had better start searching at this Yuki-Wong] 

I turned and left without another word, leaving the old woman to count her fees. The streets were starting to fill up, as the skies above Erich began to darken slowly. The Colony not only strived to create false weather, there was also a timer set for "day" and "night" for the whole structure. Trying to be more like Earth, I reflected sourly, as I forced myself through the crowded streets. Dark clouds were roiling in – apparently the weather controller felt like rain today. I let myself be carried along by the crowds of people, glancing about and carefully marking down landmark buildings into my mind. Several times, I felt someone's hands trying to reach itself into my pockets, trying to rob me of my possessions probably, and I would coldly crush their seeking fingers and push them back to their yelping owners. I hate pickpockets, and I let them know this by helpfully hindering them in their profession. 

It was a gloomy greasy drizzle when I found myself standing in another part of Erich. The buildings here were in better repair then at the outskirts, many with garish and clashing colors intended to catch the eye and one's attention. The people here were in less of a hurry – stalls still lined the street, selling legal and illegal wares indiscriminately, the pedestrians idly walking from one to the other despite the pressing rain. The streets signs were rusting horribly, but I could make out one: Wongs – Denver Street. 

I turned to regard the wide street, standing on the corner of the damp sidewalk. Hotels and inns lined were spaced between many of the Wongs, dwarfing small businesses and a few residential houses that were surrounded by tall fences topped with curling barbed wire. This looked like this was the place. I'd probably have to check into a hotel or inn; it didn't look like there were any other choices. I didn't harbor any foolish trusts in the innkeepers – they'd rob you blind as easily as they would give you a free room. I kept this in mind as I chose an inn at random, somewhat smaller than the others and noticeably less gaudy. As I stepped through the doors, the rain suddenly started to pour down, with a suddenness that would be unnatural had it been produced by nature. The weather controller must have gotten bored. 

"Welcome, sir, to the Hacienda Inn!" the clerk behind the counter gushed. He was a small, portly man, brimming with forced cheerfulness. He somehow reminded me of a fat weasel, complete with a quivering handlebar mustache, "Will you be wanting a room?" 

I nodded. [I'm probably going to have to keep an eye on him] I ignored my surroundings, stepping up to the Formica counter. 

"Will you be having a suite or a single room?" He was looking me up and down; no doubt trying to gauge how much money I had on my person. 

"Single." 

He typed something into the computer console in front of him, "And how many days, will you be staying at Hacienda, sir?" 

"Until I leave," I answered flatly, brooking no argument, "I'll pay then." 

He nodded; nearly bounced his head off, and began rummaging about in a drawer for card keys. 

"Thank you, sir. Your room is A28. Have a pleasant stay in Erich." He held out a scuffed white card out to me, a fake smile plastered on his face. 

I took it and started up the stairs. My search was finally getting off to a good start. I thought I would be excited but there was nothing, only a dull throbbing rage deep inside. Empty, empty, this was a feeling that was the most familiar to me, and the easiest to deal with. The cold pit contained only hatred and I kept this fury to a simmering knot, sometimes forgetting completely that it was there. 

I shut the door behind me, locking it. The rain was splashing past the window panes, drumming on the roof. Other than a worn bed, desk, and adjoining bathroom, the room was empty. Pointless to try to continue my search today. [I might as well settle myself down for the night] 

I dropped my satchel on the bed, the springs creaking under the added weight. The rain pounded dully overhead, a throbbing sound that reverberated in the room. I suddenly became aware of how physically and mentally tired I was. [Come to think of it, I haven't slept in a long time. No wonder I feel brain-dead] I hesitated, somewhat unsure if I should continue brooding to myself. [It makes sense. I've been thinking…thinking constantly about *him* since he died. Still, that's not much of an excuse – I must get rid of his killer. Then I can decide what I need to do next] 

I found myself heading for the bathroom, absently shedding my clothing. I had been skirting away from the facts, but I knew I had to get them and my surface feelings straight before resuming my search. I stepped into the shower, turning the water on, only vaguely aware of the warm sensation washing down the length of my body. [How many days has it been? Certainly more than seven since] Silly questions, bringing to memory others from the past. 

_\You're so modest, Trowa! Sometimes you need to lighten up sometimes!\___

Yeah, right. 

_\Despite what you want others to believe, I don't think you like being alone\___

Correct. 

_\You've been so empty all this time. I wouldn't be surprised if you misunderstand your feelings as they surface\___

I doubt it. 

_ \Sometimes you confuse me, Trowa. I think I know you, and suddenly I find you're wearing another mask. Why…?\___

Because…I'm afraid, Quatre… 

For you… 

And for me… 

To be continued...   
>>>>>   
Whew, I was surprised people actually reviewed it. Thanks for doing so! ^_^ The next chapter's not that good (at least I don't think so, but then again, I like to have Trowa doing one of those angst torture thingies, so who am I to talk? The next chapter has some parts where Trowa starts weirding himself out, but it's all good home-grown mental obsession nags...or something. Whatever. ;P), but please read and review this chapter, I'd appreciate it. Can't bribe you for it, but I suppose saying thanks is good enough. :P Thanks again for reading. I won't be putting up Chapter 3 for a while (at least not until I get more reviews and I actually have this one finished). I wonder what makes people suddenly decide to read this fanfiction? Well, any comments or flames, feel free to e-mail me them at shampo_famira@yahoo.com 


	3. Ghost of the Nobles

**Alpha Target**

By Famira Damaris 

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, much less any rights to any anime series including Mobile Suit: Gundam Wing. Sure wish I did   
though. Man, I could actually buy stuff....wow. Not those weakling things anymore, actual **stuff**! Can you imagine that? But I do own this plot...   
**Author's Note**: This is the third (I'm the only one that couldn't figure that one out e_e). Brackets stand for thoughts,   
\'s stand for remembering feelings or bits of conversations, {'s stand for electronic stuff like P.A systems. Also, this fiction   
attempts to show how no one is perfect, and show that the relationship between Quatre and Trowa/Nanashi isn't spontaneous, that Trowa might have some dark thoughts regarding it. I personally think this is where my story regarding Trowa/Nanashi starts to get unrealistic. Thanks for reading! ^_^ 

---------------------------------   
**Alpha Target**   
-------------------------------- 

It was born to me of things   
that are not of this land,   
of kingdoms and kingdoms lost   
that I had and I lost,   
of all things living   
that I have seen die   
of all that was mine   
and went from me.   
- Gabriela Mistral "Land of Absence" 

---------------------- 

Chapter 3 – Ghost of the Nobles 

AC 199, January 13   
Pavilion District, Erich   
Hacienda Inn 

I turned over in the bed, opening my eyes. Grey light was filtering in through the slats of the blinds, casting bars of shadow into the room. I stared at across the yawning expanse of the king's bed, suddenly aware of how utterly alone I was. I rolled over on my back, staring at the darkened ceiling. [Quatre…] 

At this early time in the morning, my thoughts and feelings were running rampart, as my guard was lowered. As I sat in the lonely bed, I realized that I was heavily regretting that I had never slept with Quatre. I had never considered bedding with another man before; I, unlike Duo who proudly nurtured a reputation as both a ladies and man's man, had doubts over such things. It had been positively embarrassing at times, to feel my body heat up whenever Quatre was nearby. A tight control and confusion with the unfamiliar emotion feelings had been the only thing that had prevented me from taking the poor Arabian by force, whether he liked it or not. But was that what I really wanted? Or was it something else? 

[Would I have admitted my feelings to him if I had more time?] Probably. Or maybe not. I wasn't sure half the time how I felt about anything anymore. Confusion over my past, my name, my family; now over my own identity. [Quatre is-was- so open to me. All those secrets told, those hidden desires and wishes. How did he know that I wouldn't tell anyone? He put so much faith in me] 

A terrible thought came to me. I was very sure now that I loved Quatre, but what if it was only a physical attraction? I thought Quatre's kind personality was what attracted me in the first place, but I could easily be wrong. I was too corrupt for Quatre, I knew that. My silence and few words had fooled him certainly into trusting *me* - it could be no other way when I *could* be wanting selfishly for his body and soul to be *mine*. 

I sat up, throwing the sheets down at my knees. [No, leave him out of your sick little fantasies. Pull yourself together, fool!] I felt a shiver crawl up my spine, and I chided my lack of control angrily. I turned my concentration on thinking of my information regarding Duval. It helped draw my mind from taking another disturbing turn, bringing my awareness back to reality. Duval still needed to be killed. Much better to not think too much about my feelings toward Quatre… 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

AC 199 January 13   
Erich, Yuki-Wong 

"You're gonna have to sign here before you can enter," the stick man lifted his nose to stare down its length haughtily at me. He certainly reminded one of a stick, angles everywhere, with not an ounce of flesh on his frame. He held out a glimmering data board, pointing with an electronic pen, "Put your name, and the registration numbers of all weapons on your person." 

I took the pen and quickly filled out the form, handing the data board back to the man. He took it, and looked it over, and nodded.   
"You're gonna have to leave your weapons at the door. No weapons allowed in a Wong," he held out his hand, "Sorry." It was quite clear he wasn't sorry at all. I handed over my gun silently, "You'll get it back at the door." 

He waved me in. I wasn't particularly worried about being unarmed – I was fairly decent at hand-to-hand combat, but I also didn't expect to see the man I was hunting for. I was here primarily to talk to this Mayumi. From what I knew of the Wongs, these establishments were a mixture of a prostitute house and a bar; I didn't expect much from a place like this. I stepped into Yuki-Wong without a pause. 

The first thing I noticed was the smell; the heavy air was laced with a strange mixture of musk and a sickly sweet, "sticky" type of scent. I could make a guess as to what *that* was. The smell no doubt was drifting from the second floor, where all the real "activity" probably took place. The interior of the Wong was nothing special, just an octagon with a bar in the middle, protected by a Plexiglas shielding that reached all the way to the ceiling, with holes at the bar so drinks could be served. Booths and chairs were scattered about, several people in the shadows lounging about. In the back past the bar, stairs winded up to the second floor, as several shadows scurried about taking requests and leading a person up the stairs every now and then. 

I headed for the stairs, keeping my eyes straight ahead. [Disgusting] I was paid no attention, as I was wearing non-descript clothing and was nowhere near as flashy in my demeanor as some of the other people in the room. As I passed the others, I started to listen into their conversations with half an ear. Most of what they were saying was unimportant, but several phrases started to make sense. 

I suddenly became aware of someone tugging at my sleeve. I turned, and was confronted with a girl who could hardly be over twelve years of age. Her limp umber hair was tied back into buns and held in place with a rough cotton black handkerchief, the rest of her clothes in muted blacks and browns of the same material. Almost as if the clothing was swallowing her up. 

"What is it?" I asked quietly. The girl made some motions with her hands, pointed at the stairs, then at me. She looked up at me expectantly, her little face still full of life, but exhausted. A man bawled something at her, and she waved the order away. 

"You want to know what I want?" I said, realizing that this girl was mute. She nodded. I glanced up the stairs, then at her, "I want to see someone called Mayumi." 

She nodded emphatically, and pointed up stairs, then gestured again. Apparently I was going to have to pay to see this prostitute. I handed over an amount that I thought would be reasonable, my face carefully blank. [It's a good thing Quatre isn't…here…to see this] Deep in the back of my mind, an image of me dragging Quatre into one of these rooms suddenly popped from my imagination. I pushed the disturbing image away, disgusted at myself again. 

The girl tugged at my sleeve, leading me up the stairs into a cream-colored corridor. There were some water stains from the ceiling, but other than that, the hallway was surprisingly clean. The girl directed me to one of the last doors, glancing over her shoulder every now and then to make sure I was following. I took my time, taking in my surroundings; interesting that with all the efforts to ensure that the upper level was clean and prim, there were heavy ugly locks on the doors. No doubt to ensure that the "happy" residents stayed where they were. 

She made gestures again, reaching under the door mat and producing a key. It probably didn't much matter if I saw its hiding place or not, since the inhabitants inside the rooms would have no way to reach outside. I took the key, opening the door as the girl slipped away silently. 

I kept my face expressionless. The room was little more than a cell, only housing a sinking and stained bed. The only other furniture was a closed closet. Someone was sitting on the bed, her back turned. The person was hunched over, but I could see a shock of short-cut red hair. Mayumi, no doubt. The smell that I had noticed was especially strong in here, as it had been in the corridor outside. I closed the door behind me. The barred window was thrown open, and the sounds of dogs barking and a woman's voice were drifting in. I stood where I was, waiting for Mayumi to acknowledge my presence. 

It was a while before Mayumi heaved a sigh, and stood up, facing me. It would be a lie to say I wasn't startled; the "silkie" was no more a woman than I was. Some of my surprise must have registered on my face, because the boy shook his head, the thick fire-red hair brushing the tops of his violet eyes. 

"Yes, 'Mayumi' is male," he said, having the same expression on his face as the girl outside had, "My real name's Paul, not that you'd care. You probably don't give a damn." 

He regarded me warily, as if he was expecting me to pounce at him. I did nothing, only let my eyes sweep across the room once more. Paul noticed my gaze stop questioningly on the closet, and he spoke up, obviously obligated to answer any questions I would have as a "customer". 

"Those are for some of the…rougher…customers. All the Wongs carry these sorts of 'toys' for personal enjoyment of the patrons." 

I returned to looking back at him. Why would this Duval man be associated with this boy, who could hardly be over sixteen, was beyond me. No point trying to hedge and be subtle about why I was here. 

"Do you know a man with the name of Duval?" I asked. Paul flashed me a confused look, and sat down on the bed again, obviously deciding that I wasn't going to get right to "business". 

He toyed with the end of the loose shirt he was wearing, "Yeah. Man with silver hair, sort of your average middle-aged guy, it would be hard to forget Mr. Duval. He used to come by my room all the time…" 

"What did he do here?" 

"Nothing. That's the thing," Paul shrugged, "I guess he just wanted someone to talk to. I'd just sit and we'd have a conversation. Here! Of all places!" He shook his head, "Real nice guy, but I don't know *what* he was thinking." 

Strange. I'd have thought the man who killed Quatre would have been a heinous beast. 

"I'm only here to find out about this man. Tell me everything that he said." 

The sixteen year old grunted, and folded long arms over his knees, drawing them up to his chin. He flicked a violet-eyed glance at me, still filled with suspicions. 

"He started coming in a few days before the New Year. I have no idea why'd he'd come to a Wong just to talk, but after he found out about *me*, he'd request for 'Mayumi' every time he happened to be in Erich." Paul turned his head, staring sullenly out the barred window, "I was from Earth, y'know. I had an arranged marriage with this girl from an L2 Colony, and I was traveling to space for the first time just to *meet* her. When I stopped at this Colony for the shuttle to be refueled, there was an ambush, and I was taken here and forced to be a little 'silkie' for this trash…that was a year ago." Paul glanced down at his hands glumly, "I don't know what happened to my fiancée, Rebecca. Last I heard from her family, she had gotten a job as some sort of nurse at L2. I guess Mr. Duval somehow heard of it or something. He probably felt sorry." 

"How so?" I asked. 

"Just by paying the money and coming over and *not* doing anything. It's hell here, every day for the past year. None of us have a say in anything, and every night…" he trailed off, looking down at his wrists, "There's no way to escape once you're indentured to a Wong. I've heard that even the maids here are only able to leave on errands accompanied by one of the bouncers. I haven't been outside for months. Every day I'm practically raped by total strangers. I'm not like some of the girls here who actually *like* this sort of thing. So it's a relief when someone comes in and gives you a few hours of peace, even if they only want you to talk." 

"Mr. Duval used to come in around the hours that the customers usually start asking for us. He'd come almost every day; sometimes I'd get the impression that he was hiding out here. He always seemed sort of sad when he was over," Paul gestured at the metal folding chair in the corner with a pale hand, "You might as well sit down; there's a lot he told me." 

I did as he suggested, easing myself into the seat silently. I felt no reaction to his story, instead only a vague impatience. 

Paul continued, "His full name is Ahrens Feldenheimer, but he'd always sign in as 'Duval'. I think that was his wife's last name – he had a wife, y'know, who'd been killed several years ago…I think it was AC 195, but I'm not really sure. He told me he had been following the murderer since that year, and was finally at a position to avenge his wife – " he stopped, suddenly aware that he was babbling. I motioned for him to continue, "…He said his wife used to work as a technician at some military base on Earth – that's where she was killed. Remember the Gundams?" 

I nodded. 

"One of them was responsible for her death. Mr. Duval witnessed the building she was in get destroyed," Paul released his bare knees, and stood up, still speaking bitterly, "For all that they did, the Gundams were responsible for more death than OZ was. So many innocent people died at the military bases that the Gundams attacked." 

"…Mr. Duval eventually found out who piloted the Gundam. I'm not sure where he went now, but I think I might have an idea. All I know for certain is that he is still definitely in Erich. I'm also pretty sure that Hiroshi probably knows." 

"Hiroshi?" 

Paul gave a sour smile, "The little mute girl. I know that 'Hiroshi's a boy's Japanese name, but that's how it works here. She's not even Japanese, neither am I – I don't even know if she has a real name," the red-haired boy grunted in disgust, "I'm given a female name simply 'cause I'm male, and vice versa. It's supposed to be humiliating and traditional here. They're all big on tradition these days." 

[Don't we all want to latch onto something to steady ourselves in this era?] "What else did Feldenheimer say to you?" 

Paul started to reply, but was cut off by a sharp rap on the door. He stood up, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

"You'd better go. Someone probably paid more money than you did to see me, so you can't stay any longer. Just come back some other day, and I'll tell you whatever I can," he stood up and ushered me toward the door, as someone on the other side gave an impatient knock, "He's coming, so you can *wait*!" He snarled. 

He stopped before the door, and flashed me a tired grin, "Look, thanks for today." 

"Why are you thanking me? I didn't do anything." 

"You ate up some time for me. It's heaven when I don't have to 'cater' to one person right after another," he pecked a chaste, polite kiss on my cheek, and bowed, "Thanks again." 

I gave him a stiff nod, and opened the door. Out in the hallway was the girl known at Hiroshi, accompanied by a short middle-aged woman. Behind me, Paul settled himself into a sitting position on the bed, grimacing. I headed out of the Wong, my thoughts whirling. 

For some reason, something about what Ahrens Feldenheimer was doing seemed awfully familiar. I tried to attach a name and a history to this man, but I found I couldn't. It was far easier to picture him without a past and feelings, for it baffled me as to how any one in their right mind would spend several years trailing after Quatre. [It won't matter if he had a reason for killing Quatre] I strolled down the slippery streets, my hands in my pockets. My search so far had turned up more than I had expected; this Feldenheimer had not done much to cover his tracks. 

[Perhaps he didn't have a need to cover his tracks?] As it was, I still didn't know where in the city he was hiding out. It was a miracle that he hadn't done what I had done and switched his location…but then again, the Pavilion district would probably be the last searched. He probably thought he could slip away then. [These are all only what-ifs] Nothing other then that. I glanced at my watch. Almost four o'clock. Silly to try to drill the other people here about Feldenheimer when there was a gold mine of information right here. 

I'd just have to come back to Yuki-Wong some time later.   


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Erich, Hacienda Inn 

I folded my hands behind my head, staring up again. Erich's state should have bothered me, but strangely, I was taking it in a stride. It wasn't that it didn't get through my head, rather more that I ceased to care. I closed my eyes, memories returning unbidden. 

_ \People describe you as tranquil and rational. Sometimes I don't understand how you're able to keep your cool on the battlefield\___

_ \Thank you for putting up with me, Trowa\___

_ \You're thinking about what happened with the ZERO system, aren't you?\___

_ \Well, yes, but…\___

_ \It's best if you don't think about it. You did what you thought was right. And I did what I had to\___

_ \Why aren't you angry at me? I tried to kill you that day!\___

…but I *was* angry that day, Quatre. Maybe I had a tighter control than you did then. 

_ \If everyone kept their feelings hidden, what do you think would happen?\___

_ \…I don't know…I never thought about it, Quatre…\___

_ \…You've changed a lot since I first met you…\___

For better or for worse? 

I tried to imagine Quatre sitting in the same room, failed. I tried to recall his face, but I couldn't summon up a clear image. I blinked slowly, watching the fan slowly rotating in its place on the ceiling. It swirled around and around, traveling yet going nowhere at all, just pushing the stale air in circles. [What was that saying? "You can't picture those you care about"? Something like that…I never thought it was true. Another thing I'm wrong about apparently] Nanashi, who was supposed to think everything out. 

I knew I was drifting off into sleep, tried to think of my mission, to no avail. As my awareness started to blur away, the memories started to take shape into images, sometimes concerning Quatre, sometimes not, on the battlefield and in the safe-zone. 

_ \Did you ever think that maybe, just *maybe*, the people that are the most expressive are also the ones that hurt inside the most?\___

Never even considered it, Duo. 

To be continued...   
>>>>>   
Whew! I actually typed this chapter in a day (would have been less, except I was getting kicked off the computer every now and then by my sister, Wyna [check out her Raven Wings and a Pair of Blood-Red Eyes FF7 fanfic - it's good. e_e]) And no, Trowa/Nanashi is **not** going to be a shounen-ai couple with anyone other than the deceased Quatre (bought the farm, kicked the bucket, went Upstairs). I noticed I don't really write cliff-hangers...should I? Any feedback is welcome (feel free to e-mail it or just put it on the review menu thingie). Well, I'm sidetracking here, so I'll try to get to the point. The next chapter also starts with a flash back thingie (a dream though, but I can't think of any good way I can put it in any other part of the story but the beginning of the chapters). Looks like Alpha Target's progressing faster than I thought (must be the reviews. It makes my knee-high ego inflate a little), and I might actually get a chance to work on the whole Target series (gotta think of a series name -_- tho). Thanks for reviewing my humble little fanfiction, and enjoy reading the rest of the writing. I pretty much start putting up chapters if I get a bunch of **reviews**, then and **only** then (but I can't put a chapter up every time I get a review, I'm too slow of a writer for that). Sort of like fuel, I guess. Things that slow down the writing process include school (yick), video games (love 'em, but very distracting), and my sister, Wyna Hiros (constantly kicking me off the computer so she can use it - the curse of a twin ~_~).   


[10/29/01] Once again, reformating. Also, I've been to three anime cons, so I'm happy. ^.^ I recently cosplayed as Chang Wufei at Ani-Magic 2001: my costume sucked, but it was really fun cosplaying. ;_; I'm trying to get a better costume, but it's hard coming up with a Gundam Wing cosplay group from around the area. -_- Wyna Hiros can't decide between cosplaying as Duo or Kamui's Mother. >_ 

- Famira Damaris   
  



	4. Turns Out I Lied

**Alpha Target**   
By Famira Damaris 

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, much less any rights to any anime series including Mobile Suit: Gundam Wing. Sure wish I did   
though. Man, I could actually buy stuff....wow. Not those weakling things anymore, actual stuff! Can you imagine that? But I do own this plot...   
**Author's Note**: Fourth chapter! Brackets stand for thoughts, \'s stand for remembering feelings or bits of conversations, {'s stand for electronic stuff like P.A systems. Also, this fiction attempts to show how no one is perfect, and show that the relationship between Quatre and Trowa/Nanashi isn't spontaneous, that Trowa might have some dark thoughts regarding it. Quatre returns (as a memory-dream thingie, sorry to disappoint any Quatre fans reading this) Trowa gets sort of out of character here, but that's for you to decide, considering his situation and his confusion over his feelings. 

---------------------------------------------   
**Alpha Target**   
-------------------------------------------- 

It was born to me of things   
that are not of this land,   
of kingdoms and kingdoms lost   
that I had and I lost,   
of all things living   
that I have seen die   
of all that was mine   
and went from me.   
- Gabriela Mistral "Land of Absence" 

---------------------------- 

Chapter 4 – Turns Out I Lied 

AC 198, October 23   
Earth, Festival Meadow 

"Do you think this is necessary, Quatre?" I asked. He only continued to walk determinedly down the gravelly path. I shook my head, and lengthened my stride until I was matching his pace. 

"I've been working nonstop, Trowa," a bright grin, "Look, I may be a Winner, but even I need to rest." 

I resisted the urge to shake my head at the bad pun, "I understand that. But is going to a carnival really going to help?" 

Quatre slung his casual jacket over his shoulder, and I found myself secretly admiring the way the motion was so fluid and graceful. I pushed the observation down, ashamed at the little pang of guilty pleasure. 

"I'm sure it will. Everything's been so intense, I think it'd be good if we had a day or so off," he lifted his head to the afternoon sun, closing his eyes, "Today's going to be nice and sunny. Just right for having some fun!" 

I said nothing, as I couldn't think of anything appropriate for the moment to say. 

"You're so modest, Trowa! Sometimes you need to lighten up sometimes!" Quatre commented lightly, "You treat everything like it's serious! We're going to a *carnival*, not some sort of mission!" 

"I suppose…" 

"We're almost there. I guess it's pretty lucky they happened to be having a festival just when we're here on Earth," Quatre pointed. 

The gravel path was winding up a small knoll, and I could hear the sounds of the tinny music that always accompanied a carnival. The sounds of laughter was faint, some of the rides' lights glimmering in the deepening afternoon. Quatre beamed, noticing already what he had pointed out to me. 

"Let's go to the House of Mirrors first, alright?" 

I shoved my hands in my pockets, "Sure." [I suppose he does have a point. We *have* been working non-stop for the New Years deadline. It'll be pleasant to not have to keep pouring over the first part of the speech for hours on end. Besides, it's not like I don't like being in Quatre's company. Rather that I think this was rather sudden] 

But then again, we were friends, weren't we? So why not? Friends were supposed to do things like this in their spare time. The only difference was that Quatre had decided to make time for a day off. Same result, just different approaches.   


I had to suppress a smirk. The expression had started to pop up, but I couldn't help it, "Quatre, look at the mirror behind you." A good thing I wasn't prone to laughter, or I'd be sniggering at him obnoxiously. 

Quatre turned, and made a noise of mock horror, ogling, "Aigh!" He turned back, pretending to ignore the grossly distorted and fat image on the reflective glass behind him, "I'll never be in that state! Come on, Trowa, you're not *laughing* at me, are you?" 

"No, of course not," I put on a straight face. 

Quatre snickered, looking at something over my shoulder, "You're not one to talk though. This is a first – a short and stubby Trowa. Never thought I'd see the phenomenon." 

I smiled – a genuine smile, "Only here, Quatre." 

"You saying these mirrors are reflecting *lies*?" A friendly harmless jab. 

The smile widened into a grin, which I knew was uncharacteristic for me, "Yes. How can you trust your eyes? I might really be a fat little crotchety old man." 

Quatre shook his head, heading deeper into the mirrored maze, gesturing for me to follow. I turned away, watching the dozens of reflections make its way down the glass corridor. There was some other people in the House of Mirrors, a pair of little children. They were giggling and getting lost, having a hard time telling the real from the false images. Quatre was a few steps ahead of me, smiling as the little boy and girl burst into another peal of laughter as they, trying to find an exit, banging into more mirror barriers. 

With no warning, the lights went out. 

The little children were silent for an astonished moment, and then one of them started to bawl. There were other surprised sounds from some of the people behind us in the maze, the close quarters echoing with one of the children's panicked cries. Someone, the little girl, I think, was trying to comfort the bawler. 

"Sh-h-h, come on, Tomas, stop crying! I'll protect you from the monsters in the dark! Please, Tomas!" 

The boy made some loud gulping sounds, whimpered a little. He couldn't have been any younger than four. Understandable to be frightened of the unknown at that age. Something buzzed, and a hidden intercom crackled on. The confused murmurs died down. 

"{We apologize for the blackout. We're experiencing some technical difficulties at the moment, and the electrical power to the lights has been accidentally routed away from this structure. Please exit the building – the power will be on shortly. Thank you}" There was a pause, and then a barely audible mutter, obviously to someone else, "{…I can't believe you tripped on a *wire*, dumbass…}" 

"Trowa?" Quatre's disembodied voice was some distance away from me. 

"I'm over here," I replied. I could sense some other people moving about in the pitch black darkness. I stayed where I was, as I had no wish to lose Quatre and have to go look for him. Something brushed back my waist, and two little youthful whispers. Probably the little boy and girl – looked like the little boy had recovered his courage. I stood, searching the darkness though I knew it was useless. I was more than a little startled when someone's warm hand wrapped around mine, an electric shock rushing at the contact before I could stop it. I already knew who it was before he spoke up. 

"It's Quatre," he said, "I think there's a lot of people here. I don't want to be trapped in here any longer then I have to. I take it you are sharing the same sentiments." 

"Yes." I swallowed nervously, glad that the Arabian wasn't able to see me in the darkness. 

"I think there's a lot of people backtracking through the entrance. If we go that way, we won't be able to leave immediately. The exit seems the most feasible."   
"You know where it is?" I asked, staring down at his and my hands. 

Quatre was innocently oblivious to my attentions, "I'm not *that* fooled by the mirrors. Besides, when I was walking ahead, I saw it with my own eyes. I can lead us out of here." 

He tugged, and I stumbled after him. The darkness was complete, and I couldn't see my nose, much less the blond young man in front of me. I was expecting to be banged into the mirrored sides of the maze, but not once did I even brush the glass walls. Quatre moved through the darkness with ease, never breaking his stride or stopping in confusion. I had no idea which way we were going. Left, left, straight, right…I be sure we'd take another turn, and Quatre would choose a completely opposite direction than I'd expected. I had thought I had a good sense of direction, but I was thoroughly lost. This House of Mirrors was certainly far bigger than I had originally thought it was. 

"We're almost there," Quatre's voice drifted back to me as I walked after him. I became aware that I could start to make out the outline of Quatre's head. The darkness was gradually giving way to the light, which no doubt had to be coming from the outside. I was considerably startled to find that only a few minutes had passed; it had seemed that I had been wandering blind for far longer. I half-closed my eyes as I staggered into the afternoon sun, the light blazing. 

"Whew." Quatre's voice, cheerful, "Finally! It's a good thing we're not claustrophobic!" 

"We"? What happened to "I"? 

I opened my eyes, slightly disappointed to find that I was no longer holding the Arabian's hand. We were standing in an open field, the backs of the temporary carnival buildings behind us incomplete walls. The sun was gleaming through the thinning branches of a cluster of stunted oaks. Just a few feet beyond where we stood, the wild grass was rustling, a deep brown that signaled the coming of winter. The sounds of the carnival were partially muted by the buildings and the trees. 

"Trowa, what did you feel in there, when the lights went off?" Quatre's back been turned during this time, and now he faced me. I searched his eyes for any hidden meanings. It was an innocent question – he was genuinely curious. Strange thing to ask though. 

Nothing…worried…amused…I don't really know… 

"I was just surprised," I said. 

"It was a good thing that it wasn't a ride or anything. Someone could have gotten hurt, even if it was only an accident," naturally Quatre was worried about things not concerning himself. 

I hadn't thought of the other's safety. Only made observations. 

He folded his arms across his chest, nodding at my answer, "Could you make me a promise, Trowa? Promise me that whatever the future holds, you won't forget that you have a family and friends. Just remember that we all have our faults, and be patient with us for having them." 

Rather a sudden question to ask out of the blue, but I promised him anyways. 

Quatre's face suddenly turned serious, and he stared at me. I almost fidgeted under his gaze, but somehow managed to keep a straight face. His slender face took on an unreadable expression, and he sighed. Was there something wrong? I stood where I was, unsure as to how I should act. The battlefield was one thing; I was bewildered at the confusing range of emotions assaulting me at the moment. 

"…are we friends, Trowa? I mean, true friends? Not just acquaintances?," Quatre took a step closer, and a flush involuntarily rose to my face. I'd been close to Quatre before, but…something was different about his actions right now. They seemed to be more serious, "Please tell me what you really think." 

"…I believe we're friends, Quatre," I answered. There was certainly truth in that, but I was so confused… 

"I…see," Quatre brought his fingers to his chin, thinking. I watched him, wondering what was so eating his mind. His face suddenly broke out into that smile. He touched a long finger to his mouth, stepping forward, and poked me in the chest, over my heart, "_Tsuba tsukete_." 

I had trouble finding words, and I asked dumbly, "What was that?" 

Quatre's face blushed a shade of red, turning away again, "Just something that was better expressed that way." 

"What does it mean?" 

A secretive smile, as pure as always, "Nothing. We should try to get back to the carnival, Trowa." 

I dropped the subject, as it was clear that Quatre wasn't going to explain to me what was the meaning of what he just did. No amount of prodding or questioning would have gotten him to reveal anything anyway. It would have been useless to try. Whatever it was, Quatre seemed to have a burden off his shoulders. 

But I was sure that what he had done had meant a lot to him. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

AC 199, January 13   
Erich, Hacienda Inn 

I woke up abruptly. [A dream…?] No, something that had been far more vivid; something that had actually happened. I cradled my head in one hand, sitting up in the gray darkness of the room. I had the feeling that I was breaking some sort of promise, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was. I couldn't even recall what the dream was about, except that it had struck a chord in me; I was shaking slightly where I sat. 

[Get a grip on yourself] I reprimanded. The trembling gradually ceased, until I was sitting stock-still, sweating slightly. I closed my eyes. What a wreck. If Quatre saw the state I was in now, I was sure he'd give up on me on the spot. But then again, Quatre had always been so patient… 

I glanced sideways, at the dinky little nightstand next to the bed. A small digital alarm clock was attached permanently to the furniture, no doubt to prevent thieves from stealing it. The numbers were blurry, in the surreal darkness, but I could still make the digits out. Almost three in the morning. 

Christ. 

I flopped back down on the bed, the springs squeaking in protest. The fan was still pushing the stale air around, and I could still hear some activity outside in the streets below. Far too early for this kind of thing. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was betraying someone's trust. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Erich, Yuki-Wong 

I stood at the end of the upstairs hall, waiting. Hiroshi had shown me in, recognizing my face, but, through pantomiming, had explained that at the moment Paul was occupied by a customer. I was to wait outside until the business was finished. As soon as I was settled in to wait, Hiroshi had vanished down the stairs, the bouncer glancing at her and gesturing for her to hurry up. I watched several men enter and leave through the other doors, heard female voices rise in false cheerfulness. I didn't see the door open until I heard the man's voice muttering. 

"Damn that Mayumi. O…only-y one that still plays ha-a-rd to get," he mumbled, shuffling past me. He reeked of liquor, and I had no doubt that he was dead drunk. He tried to fix a blurry glare at me, and nearly pitched onto his back. I stepped past him, and into Paul's room, my expression mild. 

He was toweling himself down with a worn rag, still panting. He nodded a greeting to me, crossing the room to toss the cloth onto the floor for someone to pick up. The red haired boy avoided the bed, skirting it as one would the diseased. I ignored the fact that he was at the moment naked, focusing my attention elsewhere as he tiredly pulled on the flimsy clothing he had been wearing the day before. He held no attraction for me. 

"I didn't seriously think you'd come back," Paul said. He seated himself on the floor near the barred window, cross-legged, adjusted the only thing that he had never removed, a pure white silk choker, facing me. He was still somewhat out of breath, "There's not much more I can tell you…?" He suddenly realized something, "I don't even know your name." 

"Nanashi." 

"No name, huh?" A careless shrug, "A name's a name, even if it's nothing. What do you want now?" 

"Feldenheimer. You mentioned earlier that you might have a clue where he is," I answered. 

Paul shot me an odd look, "You're not some sort of bounty hunter, are you? My friend's innocent." 

My ass he was. 

"I'm…just looking for him," I lied. Certainly wasn't the first time, and this boy was willing to believe in anything. He'd hadn't given up yet, and snatched at any glimmers of hope. Gullible. The lie came easily to my lips, "Some relatives are looking for him. I was merely hired to locate him." 

And kill him. The heartless bastard. 

"Oh. I apologize then. You seemed for a moment like you were out for his life or something." 

"I wasn't hired for that task." 

"Whew," Paul sighed, obviously relieved. 

I waited expectantly. He raked a hand through his thick red bangs, probably an old habit. 

"My room's facing the street. Whenever I have free time, I watch the street. It's the closest thing to actually being out there, watching other people go about freely doing what they want," Paul glanced wistfully toward the direction of the window, "I used to notice that he always came in from the east – that's near the old space-docks." 

"Closed three months ago?" 

"Yes. You heard of the big fiasco about it?," I answered him with a curt nod, "The very same. I heard that there was some illegal space traffic down there, ships leaving the Colony without authorization from the core. That's probably why it was closed in the first place." 

I felt myself grow cold. He could be long gone by now. 

"Mr. Duval said he had some things to do before he would return to Earth," Paul mused, "The last day I saw him, he said something kind of cryptic – that he needed to pick up a navigator chip and then he'd return to where he belonged." 

I caught on, "Navigator chips are only used for some of the older shuttle models. So he's hiding out at the old space-dock." 

"That's what I suspect, at least. I don't think he left yet – navigator chips aren't really products that Erich mass-produces. It's hard to come by things like that," Paul said, thinking, "You could *try* to find him at the docks, but you never know…he could be gone already. That's all I can tell you, Nanashi." 

I straightened my back. That was all I needed to know. 

"Thank you for your help," a bland smile, "I'm sure my employers will appreciate your involvement." 

I certainly would. Too bad for Feldenheimer. 

"Sure, no problem," Paul suddenly grinned as I started to leave, "Look, when you find Mr. Duval, could you tell him that I said 'good luck'? He's the first person here to treat me as a human being, so I want to wish him a pleasant journey home." 

"I will." 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
AC 199, January 15   
Pavilion Sector, Erich 

I decided that I needed to take a walk along the street, in order to sort things out. I couldn't believe my luck; Feldenheimer was still probably here. I knew enough about the Colony's districts to know that Erich specialized in only in the smelting of certain metals, not in producing electronics. Looking at the pitiful state of the district, my doubts concerning the man's whereabouts were diminishing. 

I sat down on a bench, watching the people and cars passing by with hooded eyes. I was doing the right thing, wasn't I? This man had killed Quatre, and in a logical view, it seemed perfectly reasonable to do the same to him. [Quatre…God, please don't let me forget him] For a brief moment, the grief rose up in my throat. My eyes, which had been dry since I had gotten here, started to mist over. I was considerably surprised, as earlier I had been able to think of Quatre without much of a reaction. I blinked away the tears [Now that it seems my search is almost over, I suddenly have too much time to *think*. Oh God…] 

_\Could you make me a promise, Trowa? Promise me that whatever the future holds, you won't forget that you have a family and friends. Just remember that we all have our faults, and be patient with us for having them\___

I bowed my head, swallowing. I remembered that I had made that promise to Quatre; I had broken it, ignoring those that had tried to help me the days before. I suddenly wondered where Catherine was – I had left without saying where I would be going. I had forgotten about her, and for a moment felt a pang of shame. It quickly passed. Indeed, I had betrayed Quatre's trust in me…I felt awful, my insides turning themselves at my repulsive behavior. 

Yet, did I also feel a small feeling of anger, not directed at me, but at Quatre himself? He had been so infuriating at times, so innocent and pure. [Innocent? He's no more innocent than I am!] He was, however, the kindest of all of us Gundam pilots, the trait that made the big difference. He had known duty, when death was appropriate. Was I...even jealous, in a sense? Maybe. But still, I knew I loved him, for being everything I was not, for being himself. His perfect, flawless self. 

"Turns out I lied," I smiled frostily to myself. 

To be continued...   
>>>>>>   
Well, only one or two more chapters to go! Trowa/Nanashi's search has been too easy, that's what I think ~_~; That's the most unrealistic part of this fanfiction - everything happens way too fast. Maybe the reader will assume that Trowa/Nanashi is searching in the days in-between the parts I've written? I can only hope. :P Aigh, and each chapter's getting shorter and shorter! My first chapter was nine pages - this ones about 7 or six! *burble*   
In actuality, Alpha Target has almost nothing to do with the other Targets I wanna write - it just sets the scene. Anyone think I should put in a prologue, as Alpha Target is the first of the series? Not sure if I wanna put an epilogue for it tho. As the end of Alpha Target is drawing close, I've decided I'm going to be starting Beta Target (Wufei and Sally Po, third person) soon, and start the story of the Rembrandt virus (I don't think I mentioned this before, but the character Paul's fiancee was working in the first contaminated Colony, and was one of the victims of it - sadly, Paul never received word, and so still thinks she's alive. ;_;) On another note, in this chapter, Quatre says something in Japanese, because he knows that Trowa has no idea what he's saying (no, he never learned the language, but he did pick up that certain phrase from a friend. The phrase ''_Tsuba tsukete" _pretty much means ''spit attached'' (I think - don't have that little Japanese book on me ~_~), which means a person claims "dibs" on the other. Sorry, I felt I had to get a little romantic. ^_^; Maybe he picked it up from Heero };P 

- Famira Damaris   



	5. I'm No Different Than He

**Alpha Target**   
By Famira Damaris 

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, much less any rights to any anime series including Mobile Suit: Gundam Wing. Sure wish I did though. I'd rule the world! *crazy laugh* Or at least I'd have a lot of money!   
**Author's Note**: Wow! Last chapter of Alpha Target, folks! It's long, but I couldn't see any way I could break it down into more chapters (it's over fourteen pages on Word in eleven sized font! O_o Holy cow!) Thanks for all the reviews! I love it when people review me - it shows people actually took the time to read what I wrote! Brackets stand for thoughts,{'s for electronic stuff (like intercomms), \'s stand for remembering feelings, anything subconscious or bits of conversations. Also, this fiction attempts to show how no one is perfect, and show that the relationship between Quatre and Trowa isn't spontaneous, that Trowa might have some dark thoughts regarding it. A crapload of Trowa-torture here (jeez, I love character torture for some reason O_o), and Trowa finally confronts the man he has been hunting for, Ahrens Feldenheimer! It doesn't end as one would think, though, but I wanted it to be like that! There's also a little more information on the Rembrandt virus, which should lead into Beta Target (wow, I've been promoting myself for the past few chapters. Just noticed that. ~_~). My little Author's Note continues after the chapter as well, so I can babble some more. I've also begun reformating the story so it's easier to read. Thanks for reading! ^_^ 

-----------------------   
Alpha Target   
----------------------- 

It was born to me of things   
that are not of this land,   
of kingdoms and kingdoms lost   
that I had and I lost,   
of all things living   
that I have seen die   
of all that was mine   
and went from me.   
- Gabriela Mistral "Land of Absence" 

---------------------------------- 

Chapter 5 – I'm No Different Than He 

AC 199, January 21   
Pavilion Sector, Erich 

I had called the Preventer's headquarters a night ago. Sally Po had picked up at the third ring, and I had brushed aside her astonished greeting. I told her that I was away on business, and wanted to speak to Wufei. As he picked up the line, I calmly told him where I was - that I would call him after my business in Erich was finished, and that I thought that any Preventer agents in this district should be recalled back to HQ.   
Now that I was so close to my goal, I didn't want anyone else to interfere. I hung up after I had gotten the message across, not wanting to delay any more than I had to. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

AC 199, January 24   
Erich, Edwin Space-dock Bay   
11:03 PM 

I took a bus down to the old space-dock. There were only a handful of passengers on at this time of night, the driver himself only glancing at me sleepily. I had been checking the small space docks for the past few days, but so far had come across nothing. I was prepared to keep looking until I turned up something. As always, I brought my handgun and extra magazines. I wasn't going to run out of ammunition any time soon. I had come to the conclusion that Ahrens Feldenheimer had probably not been trying to hide: the reason as to why I was able to find him to easily. [It's almost like he wants to be found.] 

"Let me off here," I told the bus driver. He yawned loudly, easing the lumbering transport to a coughing stop. I stepped off, watched the bus disappear down another street. The wheezes gradually faded away, until the area was totally silent. 

I prowled through the dark narrow alleys between the warehouses, fitting a fresh magazine into my weapon. My heart was racing in excitement, and I could almost picture one of my bullets ripping its way through Feldenheimer, fracturing something important, but not fatal. Might as well make him suffer. I was tensed as I strode from shadow to shadow, expecting to stumble across my prey at every corner. The minutes were passing by quickly – it was probably almost midnight now. Still no sign of the man. 

[Come on out. I only want to put a bullet through your skull, that's all I ask] 

I paused, as I came close to the blockaded ports leading to the bay. I hadn't examined this before, as I was doing so now. Looked secure enough; I was pretty sure no one had tampered with it, or I'd be looking at the evidence of it. I frowned [If Feldenheimer was planning to leave with a shuttle, I should be seeing some sort of damage to this…but this plate doesn't look like it's budged for awhile] I knelt down, passing a hand over the welding. Nothing wrong with that either. No one thought it would be worth trying to break through to the old docks and the ships gathering dust there. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

I stood up, my muscles knotting themselves up. Instinctively I glanced about, saw no one […Something's not right] I froze, my back to the rest of the small complex, straining my ears. There it was again – that peculiar, faint scuffling sound. [It's coming closer. A stray animal, perhaps?] I didn't want to harm anyone innocent just because I was getting trigger-happy; and I knew I *would* shoot if I were surprised. [Better to hide and see who or what it is] Glanced about, and spotted the low steel skeleton infrastructure swinging horizontally over the port's entrance, well shadowed. Probably construction that was never finished and never would be. 

Another shuffling. I crouched down, tensing my leg, and leaped up. I felt my hands lock around the bars automatically – no different then the circus – and I swung myself through the gap and over the bars, the metal structure swaying slightly under my weight. I balanced myself, half-sitting on the steel. My muscles were trembling; I ignored them, my hand tightening its grip on the gun. Silence again. [Like Quatre's eternal silence…] A flare of anger, mixed with the bewildering one of affection [I'm alone because of him…] 

The noises started up closer this time; my knuckles were turning a deathly white around the gun, gripping it even further. I caught my breath as I saw a tall form stride from one warehouse to the next. The few lights that were on illuminated briefly a haggard face, glinting on the shortly-cut silver hair. A fire was slowly building up inside me, one that had been suppressed into burning embers until now. I knew I was looking at Ahrens Feldenheimer, the man who masqueraded under his late wife's name. A red haze was quickly clouding my vision, and I was finding it hard to think. 

…Break his limbs…torture him…gut him…strangle him… 

…Make him choke on his own blood…kill him…kill him *now*…! 

I had to wrestle to maintain control and not go leaping after the murderer. I was breathing raggedly, and I tasted the coppery metallic taste of blood; I had, in my fury, involuntarily bitten my lip. I slowly brought a hand to my mouth, still watching the man as I wiped the blood off with the back of my wrist. I slowed my breathing, the red vision slowly fading. Good. 

Feldenheimer paused in his tracks, then continued walking down below. He had nothing in his hands; still hadn't found the navigator chip. He was armed, as was I, his weapon holstered in a hip sling. A former soldier? I hadn't considered the possibility, and I frowned. I knew I could hold my own in a close-quarters fight, but I had to hope that this man wasn't a marksman like Duo. I was only a fair shot, one reason why I wanted to be a little closer before I would use the gun. Paul had never said that he was a technician, like his wife – I merely assumed he was, foolishly. So I wasn't sure what I should expect from him – the only thing that I knew I had the advantage was in my age. I was almost twice as young as he. 

[Where is he going? Perhaps there is another way into the ports. I'll follow him, at least. It's not determined if he's alone or part of some organization] 

I waited until he disappeared down another alley, and stood up on the infrastructure, balancing on it. It was far wide than the tight rope, but less supple. Still, relatively easy to travel along, and I had only my safety to worry for. The steel bars shivered, but were fixed tightly against each other, not rolling under my feet like I feared they would. The steel skeleton wound about the bay's area, and I headed toward the direction that I last saw Feldenheimer. 

He had stopped between a boarded-up warehouse and a flight control deck. I stared down, waiting. No one came to him, and I made up my mind. [He's alone at the moment. I've been awfully lucky with my search so far, no matter how sloppy I've been. I'm not going to let you vanish on me now that I've seen you with my own eyes] I clicked the safety off my gun, stepping from the thin bar to a stable slat of riveted steel. Feldenheimer suddenly glanced upward, as if he had heard the sound and sensed me. 

At that moment, I jumped off the beam, sailing out into empty space. 

For a moment I was in freefall, the air rushing past me. Instincts took over, and I rolled into a flip, landing in a heavy crouch on the ground. I had the gun out and in front of me, squeezing the trigger. With a crack, the bullet exploded out of the weapon - but I knew before it buried itself in the wall that I had missed my target. I had underestimated his speed and reaction time because of his age, I cursed. I caught a glimpse of his flapping coat around the corner, and I charged after him, my legs stretching to close the distance between us. 

He was gone around another alley way, my bullet hitting the corner. I followed, dogging him in my pursuit. I tried to level my weapon at him as I raced down the straight space between warehouses, but my aim was heavily hampered by my movement. I was silent, yet somehow, I knew I had been looking forward to this confrontation with a sort of perverse glee. He or I would die tonight – there was no turning back now. 

I ran out around a corner, and quickly back-peddled backward as the wall threw off splinters of woods, a round of bullets impacting sharply. Looked like he was fighting back finally instead of running away. I waited for a few moments, ducking down as I felt the shards shower down onto my head. The shots kept thankfully where my head had been originally, instead of following down. [He's packing a pretty powerful gun. Much stronger than mine. I'm going to have to chance it] I slid out of the alley, crouched down, emptying the rest of the magazine in the direction of the shots blindly. 

[Dammit, he's running again!] I turned the corner recklessly, hearing his pounding steps retreating again. I jammed another fresh magazine into the gun, rejecting the spent one. I had lost ground, and I was barely able to follow Feldenheimer. I was considerably surprised at his agility – at his age, I would have thought he would be tiring out. I tried to think as I tried to follow. [I'm going to have to somehow cut him off. Try to go around the alleys? I might be able to catch him off guard, at the very least] I turned a left, sprinting as fast as I could. 

I skidded, turning the corner. 

Only a few feet away was a startled Ahrens Feldenheimer. Automatically, my arm rose, adjusted itself, and snapped off a roaring duo of shots at the same time the other returned the salvo. I was vaguely aware of a burst of pain as something splashed past my left shoulder, my slide turning into a stagger. I was barely able to hold onto my weapon, clutching my free hand to the bleeding wound that the grazing bullet had opened. I looked up, gritting my teeth. I wasn't surprised to see that he was gone. There was a small puddle of blood leading away – I remembered that I had been aiming at his knee-cap. I must have hit him. 

I had sunk down to my knees involuntarily. My shoulder was throbbing right through my fingers, and I was dizzy for a moment as I stood up. Another stab of pain. [S...shit. His shot only barely touched me…nearly took off my whole shoulder. Damn…it] It was getting hard to think, the air making the gash pound. I refrained from looking over at the damage, instead just keeping my hand where it was. I was being stupid and unreasonable - I knew that – but I still wanted to pursue after Feldenheimer. I could see about tending the wound later – or not at all, if things took a turn for the worse. I was starting have doubts if this Ahrens Feldenheimer was going to be the pushover I had originally thought he was. With the firepower he had on him, I would probably have a poor time if I confronted him face to face. 

[But I ca…can't turn back…he killed Quatre, he did this…and more to me…] 

I broke into a ragged jog, my breath coming in hissing wheezes as my steps repeatedly jarred my shoulder. [I…shot him in the knee…he's…going to be slowed down. I've…have only my arm to worry about…I'm faster now. My advantage] I followed the trails of red splotches. Another wave of dizziness, and I was forced to stop for breath. The wound was probably more serious than I was estimating, but it was probably nothing that would be fatal – I was bleeding, but it wasn't flowing, thankfully. Only the shoulder. Could have been worse, much worse. I resumed my trek, at a brisk painful pace. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

_ \It hurts…God…my whole body…*hurts*…am I going to die? Quatre…did what he thought was right, as did…I…Heero…will watch over Quatre…\_

_ \So many stars…all that's…between me and that emptiness is this space suit…hurts… I *am* going to die. Why, Quatre? Do you…hate me? …You did this…on purpose…you must have…\_

_ \…I hate you…for this…\_

_ \…But I still…care…about what…happens to you…Quatre……………\_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The blood led into the Carnival Field that Paul had mentioned earlier. The abandoned hulks of several stalls and metal beams were still here in the dirt lot, the only light now the moonlight traveling from the huge windows at the other side of the outer-rim of the Colony. I came to a stop, leaning my unwounded shoulder against a storage container's ribbed wall. I didn't need to follow the blood trail any more, for Ahrens Feldenheimer was standing several meters away, his back to me. Was he…waiting? I was probably the only person in the vicinity. He must have been, then. 

"Drop your gun and hold your hands up where I can see them," I ordered; it was an effort to keep my voice level and expressionless. I had raised my left hand, transferring my own weapon to it. I raised it, propping myself against the container's walls. My arm was shaking a little, "Kick it away. At this distance, I won't miss." 

There was a heavy thud, the gun spinning away into the darkness. His arms raised in the air. 

"Turn around and face me." 

He did so, hobbling. I glanced at his knee – the bullet had hit square on the kneecap and it was a mangled bloody mess, even through the improvised bandage he had tied around it. I probably had shattered the joint: he could be maimed for life. He was somewhat different looking than I had expected him to appear – a lean, almost handsome face, framing ice blue eyes under thin eyebrows. His long-coat fluttered, and I tensed, expecting to spot a flash of some other weapon he might have hid on his person. Nothing. I returned my attention back onto him. Ahrens had a strange expression on his face – a mixture of pain, sorrow, and a dark sort of relief. 

I pushed myself away from the alley, forcing myself to keep my balance. The man stared back with no fear. 

"I should kill you right now," I said, "Murderer." 

Ahrens made no reply, hands still in the air. 

"You killed *him*, Ahrens Feldenheimer, in cold blood," my voice shook slightly, but I continued, "And other people have died, because of you, at Indigo Falcon." 

Ahrens lowered his hands, despite my motion with the gun to put them back up, and I almost shot him. His voice was low, probably once a warm sound. 

"…My target was only him," a bitter smile, "I had no intention of getting others involved." 

I started. Why did that sound so familiar? 

"You might as well explain yourself, before I kill you," I said. For some reason, I wanted to hear what would justify the numerous deaths, and the one casualty that I actually cared about, "Remove the coat." 

He discarded the clothing, wearing a thick t-shirt and khakis underneath. I swallowed hard, all too aware of my shoulder's wound. I was getting nauseous, my stomach roiling, but I kept my eyes on him steadily enough. 

"You want to know why?" Ahrens flicked a glance at me, "Trowa Barton? Or do you also go under another name as well?" I kept my silence, uneasy for him to continue. 

He licked his lips, continuing despite the fact that I didn't answer. 

"…Because I hate him. I've hated him ever since that day," Ahrens sneered at me, "Just as surely as you've been despising me since I killed Quatre Raberba Winner. And you know what? I'm not even the slightest bit sorry I shot him." 

My face flushed in fury. 

"The one reason I *am* sorry is because killing him didn't do anything for me," Ahrens limped awkwardly a few feet past me. He was in obvious pain, but was willing himself to deal with it, "I'm still alone. His death meant nothing in the end. Nothing at all." 

_\Nothing to hold me back. Nothing at all\_

His words jolted me, reminding me of my own. I was mesmerized by what he was saying. [Like what I had thought…] 

"Jean Duval was only a low level technician, Barton. On her last day, the day we were going to go home together for the first time in months, she was killed in the collapse of the building she was in. It was one of the first attacks on the military installations by the Gundams, those damned things," Ahrens hissed, "I was there myself. I saw the Gundam - armed with twin sickles - destroy the buildings like they were made of flimsy paper, not concrete and steel. There was little resistance. I had been walking toward my wife's station to pick her up and surprise her, when I saw the Gundam slice through it diagonally. It instantly collapsed into itself," he swiveled, keeping most of the weight off his wounded knee, "It was a miracle that I, who had been standing in the open, got away unharmed. It was too late for Jean – she was long dead by the time we were able to remove the rubble, as was everyone else in the building. All because of Quatre Raberba Winner." 

I felt my arm waver. [It…hadn't been on purpose…Quatre couldn't have known…] I stiffened my resolve. Lies! That's all it was. Just a handful of lies. 

I started to say something in Quatre's defense, and stopped, watching silently as Ahrens limped past me again. He seemed to almost have forgotten I was there. 

"Of course I hated him. My Jean was my life, my partner! She was a far better person than I could ever be – kind, caring, generous, honest – and *you* ask why I did it? Because Jean is no longer here because of him! Ironic, you Gundam pilots," another pained pace, hands behind his back, "You preach that you fight for peace, yet you kill as many innocents as you do those corrupt. Ha! A collection of hypocrites." 

"Tracking down the pilot responsible became my life," Ahrens stopped pacing, resting his foot lightly on the packed ground, suddenly thoughtful, "My obsession absorbed every waking moment, and for those long four years, I allowed myself no time to think of my slaughtered wife. I had found something to fix my hate on, a solid, breathing being. I loathed him, felt rage whenever I saw his face on the TV or heard his cursed name mentioned." 

_ \…I hate you…for this…\_

_ \…Hate…you…\_

_ \…It's your…fault…\_

"And you want to know something interesting? I found that I *reveled* in this hatred," the silver-haired man turned again, going back to pacing, "Everything, focused in this fury at one person! An outlet, one that I could justify my anger in, for he had murdered my Jean; I could abandon myself to *hating* this one boy with all my heart! Forget my job – I found no pleasure in it. A family? Jean and I had never had any children, and now never will because of your Quatre!" 

I had unconsciously backed a few steps as Ahrens approached me. [No…stop this! Why do you accuse him? He…never did anything!] But deep down inside, I was more than ready to keep on listening to Ahrens. I backed up until I could retreat no further, my back pressed against a moldering billboard, the images long since faded away. The accusations continued angrily, rising in tempo. 

"Quatre Raberba Winner was a murderer, just like all the Gundam pilots! You all seek to put meaning into your actions, but in the end, it is nothing but cold-blooded killing. It doesn't matter if you did what you thought was right: it comes down to whose fault it was!" A leer from Ahrens, "My perfect Jean, whom I had shared my joy and anger and jealousy with, was killed at the hands of him. Her death meant nothing to your 'great' cause, just another casualty in a useless gesture to bring about your so-called 'peace'!" Every word hit home. 

_ \…For what you did today…\_

_ \…I…hate you…\_

"I…I was angry at Jean for leaving me. I loved her even more, even as I wallowed in my own anguish that she had abandoned me. I could fantasize on the pain I would inflict on your Quatre, forgetting my own pain by imaging his!" Ahrens towered over me, the uneasy feeling growing deep down. I had clean forgotten that I was the one holding the gun, that I was the one that could end his miserable life with a pull of the trigger. Ahrens was still speaking, but I could no longer hear him, the loud roaring in my ears drowning him out as I realized… 

_ \…I hate you…for making me care…so much for you…\_

_ \ …Wrapped around…your little finger…\_

_ \… Dependent…no matter…how…much I hide…it…\_

_ \…I hate you…\_

I was no different than he. I might as well have shot the bullet through Quatre myself. 

_ \…Break his limbs…torture him…gut him…strangle him…\_

_ \…Make him choke on his own blood…kill him…kill him *now*…! \_

No. There was no point in lying to myself; I was no better than this scum, I was as horrible and murderous as he. 

_ \ …"I'm not even the slightest bit sorry I shot him"…\_

_ \… "I'm still alone"…\_

_ \ …"I had found something to fix my hate on, a solid, breathing being"…\_

I found my true feelings were laid bare, an open wound of suppressed hate and frustrations. 

_ \…Breaking my promise…why should I feel shame…? \_

_ \…It was my little way…of rebelling…\_

_ \…Against your kindness and my feelings…\_

_ \…"Watching other people go about freely, doing what they want"…\_

_ \…How could you…have faults? …You were in life so much…better than I am…\_

My thoughts were swirling about, a confusion with the mixed emotions of self-deprecation, anger, sorrow, disgust and hate aimed at Ahrens and myself. 

_ \…Like Quatre's eternal silence…\_

_ \…Dammit! I want you to speak again! …I want to listen to what you have to say! …\_

_ \…You…did this on purpose…\_

_ \…I am just as responsible…I never showed you that I cared…\_

_ \…Did you ever think that maybe, just *maybe*, the people that are the most expressive are also the ones that hurt inside the most? …\_

I had never considered that Quatre might not feel the same as his projected emotions. I was so selfish…it had been only about me, not others. 

_ \ … "Justice will be dealt"…\_

_ \…That's a lie unto itself…\_

_ \…It's all the same…there is no fulfillment at the end…\_

_ \…There never was…\_

_ \…I've been lying…\_

_ \…Quatre…myself…Catherine…everyone…\_

I was the same as Ahrens Feldenheimer. Just as guilty, just as selfish, just as cold, just as obsessed – no difference between us. I sagged against the wood of the billboard, staring at Ahrens with a horror that was not apparent in my face. I was used to wearing masks – I had as far back as I could remember. 

"I'm still not sorry for your Quatre's death," Ahrens's anger had washed out of his face, and he looked down at me calmly, "But, if given a second chance, I wouldn't do it again. It simply isn't worth it." 

I couldn't find anything to say. My mind was drawing a blank. 

"I had always thought that his death at my hands would bring me a great relief, that it would give meaning to Jean's death and the years that I had spent in pursuit of him," his accusations had stopped, and he was sorrowful, "Those years wasted for *nothing*. I felt nothing when he died; only an emptiness within. No satisfaction, no pity, no mourning, no anger. Nothing. My feelings wouldn't have changed, in truth, whether he lived or died. There was no reward for my efforts." 

He reached out swiftly, and grabbed my wounded shoulder mercilessly. I almost gagged, the gun nearly dropping to the ground. I couldn't see him for a moment, blinded by a curtain of pain. Ahrens didn't move his hand or squeeze the injury, but in a sort of queasy detachment, I could feel his fingers touching something hard. So the bullet had gone right through and hit some of the bone, I noted vaguely. 

"The only reason I even bother to tell you this is because I didn't want others involved. You got dragged into this," I stared into his clear blue eyes, unable to look away. I was unable to reply, feeling sick as my shoulder pounded, "Even if you were to kill me, it would do nothing. No matter how angry you are, it's the same result. You're young – you've still got a lot of life ahead of you. Go ahead and kill me, if you want. It won't make a difference. It would be hard for me to recover lost years, to start anew. You're still a kid. You have the resilience of the youthful." 

[There's no life…why should I be worthy…of it? I'm not any better…than you] But it was a feeble protest. 

"You won't understand right now. Maybe you never will," he sounded absurdly like he was scolding me in his harsh warm voice, in an effort to teach me a lesson. I almost laughed, except I was hurting too much for that, "It's none of my business. It's your choice, your life, so it's yours to deal with." 

He suddenly released me, turning his back. I slid down the wooden board, defeated. I couldn't concentrate my thoughts into words, and wasn't sure *what* I wanted to do anymore Ahrens stooped down and picked up his overcoat, slinging it over his shoulder. He started to limp away. I cradled my gun in my lap, like I had cradled Quatre's head weeks (years?) before. 

"If you're going to kill me, you'd better do it now," Ahrens said, his voice sounding faint already, "I'm leaving; I already gave you more than enough time. There's nothing more I can do for you, nothing more to tell you. No apologies, just reality as it is." 

I shakily raised the gun, and slowly let it drop, staring at it as if were alien. Ahrens's hobbling uneven steps faded away. He never turned around, his black form disappearing into the shadows. He was gone. 

I leaned my head back, staring at the gray clouds overhead. I had failed. I hadn't accomplished what I had set out to do. I was mentally exhausted, steadily ignoring the steady pain from my shoulder. I was having a hard time concentrating, and I folded my arms limply about my legs, agony rushing up from my wound. [Why…didn't] Closed my eyes [Kill him…?] 

I opened them again, in the same sitting position that I had been in at the hospital. Though it was dark, I see something black staining a good majority of my clothing, starting to pool out at my leg, where it had dripped down. Blood? Probably. Mine? I couldn't remember. I've killed so many people, and it was so hard to tell. It didn't matter, did it really? A low sigh, staring down at the bleak dust ground. 

Funny. I'd fail in a carnival ground, similar to the place where I had made that silly promise to Quatre only to fail in keeping my word. But there was no laughter – it had no hilarity. Only irony. Sad that I couldn't even finish off a target now. And he hadn't been hiding at all; he had known I was following him, and had been waiting. So pathetic. A particularly painful twinge from my arm. Sort of dizzy, but it probably wasn't due to the blood loss. I hadn't lost *that* much yet. 

[Quatre…I-I'm………sorry.] 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

AC 195 

I could see out the gaping hole in the side of the Vayaete. Sparks where flickering about it, like little broken blood vessels. Just beyond was the endless sea that was space, the pinpoint stars twinkling weakly. [This Mobile Suit is going to blow up any minute] I was calm. Shouldn't I be worried? I was going to die! But, giving it a little thought, I had been facing death since I had been able to become a mercenary. It was only a matter of time before it would have caught up to me. [But then again, it *had* been suicide to put the Vayaete in front of the Mercurius like that] 

The tri-panel of view-screens had long since died, shorting out the moment I had been hit dead on by the Wing Zero's buster rifle. The only way I could see was through the rip in the Mobile Suit, as the boosters sputtered for a second and strengthened. I didn't want the blast from the coming explosion to hit the other pilots, and I somehow had managed to retreat from the battlefield. I was probably far enough now – the blast radius couldn't reach to the Colony. Only some harmless debris would float away. By some miracle, the comm unit between the Mobile Suits was still functioning, still set to a frequency that only we, as Gundam pilots, were privy to. 

I couldn't see where the Wing Zero and the Mercurius were now. I leaned back in my seat – I had said a farewell of some sorts (what had happened to Quatre?), and was waiting fatalistically for the Vayaete to succumb to the damage. Not long now. Only a few seconds had passed since I had finished speaking. I supposed that the Heero had forced Quatre to confront him; did Quatre try to go after my Mobile Suit? I thought so, but I might have imagined it. But he wasn't here now… 

I reached over to my left, and pulled at the plates curling away from the hole in the Mobile Suit. It came away easily, and I tossed it out into the zero gravity of space. I could easily fit through it, if I saw any reason to. 

I unbuckled the restraints of the pilot's seat. Useless now, just as it was useless to try to abandon the Vayaete – I would never make it away safely, and the chances of me getting to safe ground in my pilot's space suit were low. Closed my eyes, bidding my last few moments of life. 

Quatre…it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that something was wrong with him. I had noticed the change the second I had heard the crazed strain on his gentle voice. I hadn't known what to make of Quatre when I had first surrendered to him, but I did consider him to be a friend. It had been a nasty shock to hear him demand to kill, that he didn't want to deal with the Colonies, that they were his enemies as well as OZ. [Please, Heero, make sure Quatre is alright. I'm sure he didn't want to do this on purpose. And how could he know that you and I would be the ones that would go after him? I hadn't known he was piloting the Wing Zero myself] Not even half a minute had passed. 

My eyes flared upon as soon as I heard the comm unit start to crackle and squawk. The panels were sparking viciously, and I could feel the whole body of the Vayaete shudder. I grunted, shutting my eyes again. I had the feeling I didn't want to have them open when the Mobile Suit blew. 

"{-let me go, Heero! Tro-o-o-w-w-wa!}" 

Quatre's voice cut off, as the world exploded. A wave of heat roared by me, and I felt myself flung out into space violently, tumbling. Pain erupted everywhere, as I was surrounded by a bright light that penetrated even my closed eyes. Opened them involuntarily; I was blinded, spots jumping across my vision. Debris was rocketing past me, and I could feel several large and small impacts across my legs and upper torso. The glow had grown into a huge fireball as the Vayaete was suddenly *gone*. I was jostled about the melted slag – more little bursts of pain. I must have hit a larger piece of the destroyed Mobile Suit, for my progress slowed, though I nearly passed out as I helplessly collided with something I couldn't see. My body went numb, as my careening halted, until I was gently drifting at a lazy pace. 

I…I'm…still alive? 

_\It hurts…God…my whole body…*hurts*…am I going to die? Quatre…did what he thought was right, as did…I…Heero…will watch over Quatre…\_

I couldn't move my body – it simply wouldn't obey my commands. My eyes ached horribly, my whole body alternating between going numb and firing up in pain. At least a few ribs were cracked or broken. My breath was puffing out in little gasps, every one clouding the faceplate of the space helmet. I was going to lose consciousness soon; I could tell as soon as I saw my vision go gray, like so much static filling up my eyes. I wasn't even aware of what was going through my head; there was so much haze… 

_\So many stars…all that's…between me and that emptiness is this space suit…hurts… I *am* going to die. Why, Quatre? Do you…hate me…? You were…so angry…\_

_ \…You did this…on purpose…you must have…\_

_ \…You abandoned me to die…\_

The stars in the blackness were slowly passing me, thousands upon thousands. I was only semi-conscious, my eyes starting to close as I began to pass out. I gritted my teeth as my legs suddenly reminded me they were still attached to my body in the most painful way. 

_ \…I hate you…for this…\_

_ \…I hate you…because of you…I'm…going to die…all because of *you*…\_

_ \…I…hate you…\_

_ \…But I still…*care*…about what…happens to you…Quatre……………\_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

AC 199   
Erich, Carnival Field 

Sirens. 

[I…didn't even know that Erich would even have…have…?] I couldn't finish the thought. Still quite far away, but some dutiful soul had apparently heard the gunfire and thought it the right thing to do to call the local authorities (surprising they'd even have any). 

"So t-the…police are coming," I said out loud, mildly astonished at the hoarse tone. Let them come. I didn't give a damn if they found me here, with the spent gun at my feet and a suspicious little puddle of blood. I just wanted to go to sleep, by now used to the heavy throb in my shoulder. 

…Just… 

…Leave me…alone 

…I…don't understand anything…anymore…   


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

AC 198, February 2   
L2 Colony 

[Looks like Hilde and Duo are doing well here with their business] I noted. I wasn't here on business – not only I was, for some reason, invited here, I was coming just for the sake of it. I couldn't even remember when was the last time that I had ever done anything that didn't serve some greater cause, whether it be piloting Heavyarms or working as a mercenary. Actually, both Quatre and I had received the invitation from Hilde via the phone, but Quatre suddenly had to deal with some family affairs, promising to catch us later. 

The high walls of the junkyard were devoid of any graffiti, topped with barbed wire. Today, there was little traffic going through, but as I understood it, their services were much in demand, and there were even a good number of people working under them, acting as salvage teams. [Of course, knowing Duo, he's not going to sit around and let others do the work for him. He doesn't mind getting his hands dirty.] I didn't know much about Hilde – the young woman was only an acquaintance – but she had seemed pleasant enough, lively and cheerful, as much a personality as Duo. 

"Hey, Trowa!" A boisterous bellow from the yard. Hilde jogged out, waving, "You made it! And good timing, too! Duo! Hey, Duo, stop fooling around with that engine!" The young woman turned, smiling, "Glad you came. We've just gotten some good stuff in, so we've got a lot to do." 

"I see," I said. 

Hilde held out her hand and I accepted it, shaking it as I noticing the little glittering band around her finger. So Duo and Hilde were going steady. [So he's finally going to be serious about something. They make a good couple. At least it's a fact that some of us former pilots are living happy lives…] 

Hilde beamed, and it was infectious – I was soon returning the ghost of a smile myself, "We didn't have any introductions during the war, so I wanna make this formal," She gave a mock curtsey right out in the street in her work jeans and sweatshirt, "I'm Hilde Schbeiker. Pleasure to meet you." 

I gave a small bow, "Trowa Barton. The pleasure's mine." 

"Hey, Trowa, don't be hittin' on my woman!" 

Hilde and I turned toward the voice. Duo was swaggering over, throwing a worn rag over his shoulder, his characteristic wide grin crossing his face. He pretended to throw me a look of jealousy and put his arms around Hilde's thin shoulders. Hilde giggled, shaking her head. 

"I'm not your *woman*, Duo Maxwell!" A playful punch to the shoulder. Duo made as if he was reeling over from the pain, "If it's anything, you're *my* man." 

I watched all this with amusement, but deep down inside me, I felt sad, and somewhat envious. They had such a happy life together, with the one they loved. [Sometimes I wish I could be a part of something like that] For moment, I thought of Quatre, and I was startled at my reaction: a nervous longing, but a dislike as well. I pushed his image out of my mind, not knowing what to make of it. Best to ignore it – I didn't particularly want to start trying to sort and catalogue my various emotions at the moment. 

"Glad to see you again, Trowa," Duo said, Hilde leaning her head on his shoulder, "So, welcome to our business." 

"It's quite an enterprise." 

"Yeah. We got a buncha workers now, and we just got this huge-ass order from this big employer. It's gonna be a little hard to fulfill what this guy wants, but we can do it." 

I glanced over at the junkyard. Hilde gestured. 

"We'll show you around," a sunny smile again. 

I followed the couple as they turned around and entered the junkyard. It was an asphalt lot, with neat sections of various parts. I'd been expecting a pile of junk, to have to wade through the broken metal. But it was all neatly organized. Duo pointed out anything of particular interest, Hilde joining in every now and then, with a friendly jibe or little tidbit of information. They were both enjoying their work and each other's company. I hadn't thought it was possible for human beings to be so happy. 

But then again, I had never been truly happy as far back as I could remember, had I? 

Hilde excused herself, saying she'd make a cup of coffee for all of us. Duo and I were alone, the braided young man making some small talk to which I replied to softly for a while, until we both fell silent. It was a sunny day in the Colony – no rain, snow, or hail from the weather controllers. The "sky" was cloudless, and one only had to look up to see the rest of the Colony curving overhead.The air was clean, due to the filters. It still lacked that special "crispness" that the Earth atmosphere possessed in the areas with no air pollution. But then again, the Colonies were only imitations of Earth. 

"How's Quatre?" Duo asked. 

I put my hands in my pockets, "He's doing well. He said he would come by later." 

"Heh, guess he had some business or something. Well, that's the Quat-man for ya!" 

"I suppose." 

Duo fixed his dark purple-blue eyes on me, the gentle breeze ruffling his chestnut bangs, "How's it between you two?" 

"We're friends, if that's what you're asking." I replied, puzzled. What was he getting at? 

"I dunno…" Duo looked thoughtful, folding his hands behind his head, "That's not really what I meant. God, it's so agonizing to see you two just sitting around. So slow!" 

I shot him a strange look, "And what do you mean by that?" 

"Nothing." Duo was silent again, before he said, "You were probably thinking how Hilde and I looked so happy together, huh?" 

I was startled, and I did my best to hide that I was. I couldn't have been that obvious, could I? Duo must be sharper than I had taken him for, "…Yes." 

"They always say that where there is light there is darkness, Trowa. If I can be happy with Hilde, I can be just as upset or mad," Duo stooped down, picking up a small part for a car, and turning it over in his hands, "It's all a big gamble." 

"Then why do you risk it?" 

"Because having happiness even for a small period of time is better than never experiencing it at all. It's always worth the risk of all the negative stuff. You risk it all: you can either win it all or lose everything. But then again, you lose more when you have something to lose," Duo stood up, flicking a sideways glance at me, "They even used to have a question for some award-winning essay years ago dealing with these type of things." 

"What was it?" 

" 'If you had the chance to be utterly happy for a year'," Duo held up a finger, straining his memory, " 'And as soon as the year was over, you would lose all memory of it, would you still choose to have that year, even if you forgot everything that happened, or would you chose not to have it'?" 

I didn't say anything. Duo was obviously trying to tell me something, but I didn't (or pretended not to) know what it was. I cast my eyes on the ground. I suddenly wanted Quatre to be here; if he had been here, I wouldn't have to feel so awkward. Duo kept that maddening stare on me, until I asked: 

"And what did the author write?" 

"That he'd and almost every person he'd asked would take that year of complete happiness, despite the fact that no one would have any memory afterward. He said that he thought it was better to have the experience and remember it all during that period of time," Duo changed the subject cheerfully, "Well, enough with lecturin'. I must be boring you." 

"No, it's alright," I said automatically. But I was still troubled about it. 

Duo looked at his watch. He was probably counting how long the Arabian was going to be late and start bagging him for it when he arrived. 

"Quatre's too damn nice sometimes. I heard he was sponsoring a bunch of these fundraiser type events. He probably got mobbed by some of the people he helped." 

"I hope not." 

"Y'know, you and Quatre are *almost* total opposites. Yet you're still friends," Duo was approaching a sensitive topic, "It's hard to imagine that only four years ago he almost killed you. And yet you saved him from the Libra." 

I only grunted. I didn't really want him to be bringing that subject up. I had forgiven Quatre, hadn't I? So what was there to discuss? No harbored negative feelings, I was pretty sure. And Quatre hadn't really meant it. He couldn't have. 

"-You rarely say anything; when you do, it's carefully thought out. But Quatre's so expressive," Duo turned narrowed eyes on me, "You can't be so damn cold all the time. Be spontaneous for once and stop being so careful." 

"I…" I was further surprised by this turn in the conversation. I trailed off. 

"Are you afraid you're gonna be hurt if you don't constantly wear a mask?" Duo's voice sounded so deceivingly cheerful, but I knew he was angry and frustrated, "Did you ever think that maybe, just *maybe*, the people that are the most expressive are also the ones that hurt inside the most? You ever think about that? Of course not. It's always about you, you, you," Duo fiddled with the end of his meter-long braid, "Quatre still feels terrible. He cares about you, Trowa! Not only that, he misses his father, feels regrets for all the death he caused. He may be polite smiles on the surface, but he's hurtin' a lot still. He needs someone to support him, someone to be by his side. You should…you should…I don't know! Do something! At least acknowledge his existence." 

_\…But I do…I don't know what I want…\_

More uncomfortable silence. We had circled around the whole lot, and the trailer that Hilde had disappeared into was in sight. Duo snorted, shaking his head. 

"Look, I'm sorry about baggin' on you like that," he said, "I had just gotten into thinkin' recently. Ignore what I said. Truce?" He suddenly beamed roguishly, so unlike the angry braided American that had been only a few moments ago been admonishing me. [What could have brought that all about?] But I only nodded. 

"Hey, Duo! Trowa!" Hilde's head poked out of the trailer's side window. She pushed unruly dark purple bangs from her forehead, "Coffee's ready!"   
Duo headed toward the temporary building, I following. I did my best not to let Duo's words get to me, tried not to think of them at all. I kept thinking of Quatre, however, and this was shaking me up. 

_ \…I…hate/love you…\_

_ \…But…I care for you…more than I hate you…\_

A glaring yellow mug was placed in my hands, steaming with coffee. I sat down at the loveseat, while Hilde straddled one of the wicker chairs, Duo opting for slouching at a desk adjacent to the kitchen space. They both fixed a concerned eye on each other. 

"You slob," Hilde commented. 

"You're a lazy bum yourself," Duo retorted. Hilde laughed at him. 

"You wish! I can be a *hard* worker when it's necessary," Hilde said, shifting sensually. Duo's eyebrows rose at the invitation, and his grin grew wider, if that was possible. Friendly banter, it seemed, which probably led to other sorts of exchanges. I didn't say anything, but once again I was envious. 

"So, did Duo talk your ear off?" Hilde stuck her tongue out at Duo, leaning her chin on the back of the chair and regarding me, "He's so full of himself – he's obsessed with the sound of his own voice." 

"Damn right!" 

"He didn't talk my ear off," I sipped from the mug. 

_ \…What a lie. He wouldn't shut up…\_

"That's good. So, how's it been? Now that there's peace for both the Colonies and the Earth Unified Nation, people can achieve their dreams." 

_ \…You can't achieve a dream when you don't have one…\_

"I heard that all the biological weapons labs are turning to looking for cures," I said, "It's quite an undertaking." 

"Yeah, we have one huge one right here in L2," Hilde replied, "I'm so glad that those labs are doing something useful. There's so much hope now that a lot of diseases will become curable and less dangerous." 

Duo gulped his coffee down, and promptly began to cough. He nodded, waving away help from Hilde, "Yeah, I heard they're gonna start on this weird space disease thing. The local nuts named it after some old dead guy." 

"It's Rembrandt! And he's not just 'some old dead guy', Duo! He *was* a famous artist." Hilde shook her head at Duo's apparent tendencies to idiocy, "This virus was gonna be used by OZ, but they quit productions on it, at least that's what I heard when I was still a soldier for them. But some of it got out during the war and this lab's gonna start working on cures for it. It's really scary though." 

Duo had recovered from his coughing fit, nodded to what Hilde was saying. 

"Yeah, it only affects those born in space. Since OZ was based on Earth, they could use it to scare and threaten the Colonies, while sitting safe on Earth. Even if an infected person confronted someone native of Earth, he wouldn't even give a single symptom of it. Real scary shit -" he suddenly cut off, and leaped out of his seat, "The Quat-man's here!" He bounced out of the trailer. I couldn't remember any time that I had seen him this energetic. 

Hilde gulped some coffee from her mug, "Jeez. I still don't see how he's able to sense people coming like that. He's so weird sometimes." But it wasn't serious. 

Duo came in, chattering to Quatre. Quatre looked tired, but he was valiantly trying to listen to Duo and say greetings to the rest of us. The poor Arabian was rescued by Hilde, who stood up and dragged Duo away, making him sit down in the desk again. Duo started to say something in protest, but he received a playful whack upside the back of his head by her hand. 

"That is *so* uncool," Duo mumbled in reply, rubbing the back of his head ruefully. 

"It's good to see you both," Quatre spoke up. He glanced about for a place to sit (he looked very much like he just wanted to lie down and take a nap). The other wicker chair was piled high with various books and blueprints, as were almost all the chairs in the room. I suddenly realized that the only available space…was next to me. I felt uncomfortably hot as Quatre trudged over, flopping down next to me. It was right that Quatre should fill the empty space. I suddenly caught myself at this. [What am I saying? I can't be thinking this!] I bit my lip, feeling an electric shock every time I came into physical contact with the Arabian. 

"You look exhausted!" Hilde leaned haphazardly in her chair, nearly tipping over, as she offered Quatre a cup of coffee. He took it gratefully, "You look like you're going to fall asleep any moment." 

"I'll be fine. I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" Quatre sat back. The loveseat was rather small, and we were both squished together. Quatre didn't notice anything; he was too tired. 

"Not really. We were just talking about some of the positive things that are now happening because of the end of the war," Duo answered, kicking back his feet onto the desk and folding his arms behind his head, "What kept ya?" 

"Some people insisted that they had some problems that must be dealt with immediately," Quatre stifled a yawn. 

"There's always people with problems," Duo grunted, "Say, anyone have any idea what happened to the other guys?" 

"The other Gundam pilots?" I asked. Hilde shot Duo an odd expression   
.   
"I'm not really sure myself. I do know that Wufei joined the Preventers," Quatre said. 

"I last heard rumors that Milliardo Peacecraft traveled to Mars for that terra-forming project," I added, "And I suppose that Heero is in the company of Vice-Foreign Minister Darlian." 

"That's good," Hilde was frowning at Duo, who was trying to disappear into his chair. It was probably something private. Hilde didn't seem to particularly like hearing Heero mentioned. 

Quatre sensed that there was some tension, and he - the peace maker - spoke up. 

"So, you two are working partners?" 

"Yeah," Duo said, and the next was obviously directed to Hilde, "But I do all the work." 

Hilde let her misgivings go, easily slipping back into the insults between the two, "Eventually. You're such a lazy bum, Duo Maxwell! I always do all the work for you!" 

Duo chortled at her in mock derision, "My ass!" 

"It's a big one at that. I'm sorry, sir, but that's just the truth." 

They bantered back and forth, completely forgetting us. I abruptly felt a heavy weight on my shoulder, and looked over. My heart jumped: Quatre had fallen asleep, and was now supported by my shoulder as he drooped. He was softly snoring, his breath warming my shoulder. [Oh, Quatre…] I glanced over at Hilde and Duo. They were still in a heated exchange, and hadn't noticed anything. Quatre looked so worn out…he must have had a real hard time. I gently caressed Quatre's chin and pulled away. [I should probably get him back home or at least where he can get some rest. He's dead tired.] 

"Hilde. Duo. Thank you for having us over," I said, standing up. Quatre was half-asleep, and leaning heavily against me for support. I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing, but I slipped my arm under Quatre's, so he could have something to hold on to. I didn't want him slipping down my shoulder and getting thrown to the ground. 

Hilde and Duo looked up, waved cheerfully, and went back to bickering, standing up one after the other and taking their "argument" into another part of the house. I helped the weary Quatre down the steps, my heart thudding. Could he feel it, the beats vibrating? He mumbled something, but I didn't catch it. 

"Come on, Quatre, let's go home," I whispered softly. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

AC 199   
Erich, Carnival Field 

I was suddenly awake. I hadn't even realized that I had fallen asleep, but I was getting light-headed, and for a second I didn't know where I was. I had stared about wildly, before recognizing the forlorn, abandoned field. The sirens were closing, wailing their distinctive screams. 

I laid my head on my unwounded arm, closing my eyes. My other arm was caked in drying blood, the air making my wounded shoulder a mass of pulsing agony. Let them come. 

_ \…You can't achieve a dream when you don't have one…\_

Thankfully, I was only semi-conscious now. I didn't have to listen to the irritating voices of people approaching. My screen of hair was blocking my darkening vision, a mask from which to hide myself from the world. Hide the pain, hide the anger, hide the jealously, the fear. 

_ \…I…now know how I think…\_

_ \…That I had loved and I had lost…\_

_ \…I had you…and I lost you…forever…\_

_ \…" 'Till death do we part' "…\_

_ \…I…found what I…came for…\_

_ \…I finally think…I understand what I felt for you…Quatre…\_

_ \…But there will be no happy ending…\_

Fin   
>>>>>   
Well, that's the **end** of Alpha Target, folks! Thanks again for all you wonderful people that reviewed my first fanfic! I've started working on Beta Target (third person, **Chang Wufei** and **Sally Po** on a Preventer mission on Earth, haven't gotten too far because of my sudden interest in Mobile Suit Gundam 0079 and 08th MS Team). It's not really a sequel, though it takes place almost immediately after the end of Alpha Target. It will detail what happens to Trowa after his story, and will start to focus on the Rembrandt disease introduced in the first part of the series I want to do and the incidents occurring with it (like what really happens in the L2 Colony it infects - the very same one that Hilde and Duo were living in during Alpha Target) 

Also, for some reason in my English class, I had to write a short story based on the good novel One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. I did put it up (It's called No Longer Am I Needed; mild angst, a quasi-happy ending) just because I sort of wanted to, and I think it's actually alright, considering its length (only seven pages on Word, pretty short stuff). But I doubt anyone's going to read it. But I like to put my writing up. What can I say? I'm cruising for a bruising. 

Anything else I want to say? We're not sure yet, but my sister Wyna Hiros and I might be planning to write a MST (Mystery Science Theater 3000) on the horrible movie "Dungeons & Dragons" (in case you don't know, MST is a television show on the Sci-Fi channel that takes horrible films and bashes them in a funny way. A lot of people on FF.net have also applied "MSTing" to fanfics and games). I'm having a lot of trouble finding the damned **script**, so if anyone actually happens to find it, could you send it to me? The movie was so bad, it's asking for a MST! And I'm thinking of actually MSTing Alpha Target here, but I don't know how people would react. Some of the parts in it are unintentionally funny, but I'm unsure if I should MST it. I'll hurt my own feelings. :P 

I kind of want to write for other anime and genre (some of the video games, or Ranma 1/2 or something), but I have all these ideas for Gundam Wing based fanfics! It's a terrible world when all one can think of is fanfic plots. I wanna write something for Dead or Alive 2 (Dreamcast game), and I'm working on my first attempt at a yaoi (big step for me; plus I'm on a dare with my sister Wyna for a pair of batteries if I win, but if I lose, I have to go buy her a small manga. But I also think it's a challenge to write). Uhm, anything else I wanna babble? Jeez, I say some weird stuff. I wonder what it would sound like if Trowa and Quatre had different voice actors...I personally think the Japanese voice actors for Chichiri and Tasuki in the Fushigi Yugi dual song "Aoi Jiyuu Shiroi" would sound really good! The voice actor for Chichiri would make a cool Quatre, and I think the actor for Tasuki would sound pretty neat as Trowa, even if he'd be a little deep voiced. But then again, that's just me, basing it only on the *singing* voices. Chichiri sounds strange when he talks tho (like he's on helium)...and Tasuki sounds a little crazy. ^_- But I guess that's all I gotta say here... 

Flames, rants, reviews, threats, whatever! Feel free to e-mail me at **shampoo_famira@yahoo.com** or IM me at **S Duo Maxwell 02**! I love feedback (it would be great if people actually e-mailed me about what I write, but sadly, that's not to be. O_o)! It's the life force of all fanfic writers! Keep our kind alive e_e! Thanks for reading and for dealing with my strange babbling at the beginning and end of my fanfics! 

- Famira Damaris   
*Yamcha fan   
*Wufei supporter and cosplayer   
*Glomper of Bright Noah and Char Aznable "Look, they're in the same scene! YAOI!" 


End file.
